Rot
by LMQ Mor
Summary: I am excited to share my story with you. Please construct criticism. English not first language.
1. 1

1

The early rays of late summer sunshine streamed through Abbott Walden's dormitory window, rousing him from slumber. The aged vole sat up, rubbed his eyes, stroked his prominent whiskers, and set about his day. He had always been an early riser, finding long periods of rest unproductive and dull. Besides, who would want to sleep in on what promised to be such a beautiful day?

Walden descended the stairs and walked out onto the grounds around the Abbey. He would start his day with a stroll around the outer wall, he decided, affording him the time to ponder the many quandaries facing Redwall lately. Much of the old woodwork had gone soft, almost rotten with seasons of disrepair; it was about time he organized a crew to have it all replaced. Or better yet, he thought, why not make an Abbey-wide event of it, enlisting the help of everybeast down to the youngest Dibbun? With more paws to help, the work would go quicker, perhaps take no longer than a day. And if he promised a feast at the end—

Lost in thought, when he rounded the belltower and entered the western front lawn, he did not at first notice the intruders. It was only a sudden, raucous snigger that stirred him from his plans for the feast. He looked up, adjusted his spectacles, and squinted.

They were three vermin. Draped in gray cloaks, an older stoat and a dour-faced fox stood behind a young, female weasel, who was seated at a small wooden table Walden recognized as belonging to the cellar. Atop the table was a flagon of damson wine and a plate of scones.

"Who are you and how did you enter this Abbey?" asked Walden. He kept his tone moderated and calm, watching how the vermin would react.

The stoat and the fox said nothing, but the weasel, sampling a scone, extended a paw in a lazy wave. Abbott Walden took note of the many, many daggers strapped to a belt around her waist. "'Ello there," she said, mouth half-full with scone. "'Bout time somebeast showed up, was gettin' tired of waitin'."

"You've yet to answer either of my questions," said Abbott Walden.

"Silly me, must've forgot." The weasel swallowed her scone and took a swig of damson. "I'm Alagadda of the Many Blades, pleasure t'meetcha."

Had the situation not been so serious, Walden might have had to stifle a laugh at the preposterous name. Instead, he said: "Well, Alagadda, if you and your friends have good intentions and are willing to relinquish your arms, you're welcome to stay at Redwall Abbey for as long as you follow our rules. If not, however, I must politely ask you to leave."

The stoat behind Alagadda erupted into laughter—it had been he who sniggered earlier. "Relinquish our arms, 'e sez! 'Ow'm I suppos'd to relinquish somethin' attached at the socket!"

A glare from both Alagadda and the fox silenced him. Alagadda turned back to Walden. "Pardon him, he don't know as much as 'e should. As for the matter at hand, goodbeast, I'm 'fraid I ain't gonna relinquish my arms. Got too many of 'em. As for good intentions, well. Can't say you're in luck as far's that's concerned, either."

The lean, thin weasel rose from her seat at the table. As she stood, Walden noticed she had far more knives and daggers strapped to her than he had estimated when she was sitting; with every step she jangled. Slowly, with calculated and graceful steps, she made her way across the front lawn toward Abbott Walden, drawing a long, curved dagger from a sheath at her hip, twirling it around in her paw almost carelessly as she crossed the grass. Walden knew that if he ran he had no chance of outpacing her—he was too old and she too young, even if he surprised her with a head start. Instead, he stood his ground, adjusting his spectacles and staring boldly up at her as she neared.

She held the dagger to his throat. "I've seen beasts such as yoreself afore," she said. "That same look of defiance. The ones who won't cower or cringe. I've seen that very selfsame look yore givin' me now ebb out the eyes of a beast as I slit their throat, like this—"

With one effortless motion she drew the blade along Walden's neck. Despite himself, Walden shot a trembling paw to the spot, only to feel the slightest trickle of blood; she had only nicked the skin.

"—Save just a liddle bit deeper." She sheathed the blade and suddenly shifted to a smile. "But let's not have to talk like that, okay? 'Tis a dull subject."

Despite trembling all over, Abbott Walden forced himself to remain a shred of composure. "Well then, what is it you want from us? We have no treasure, no valuables—"

"I want only what I already have," said Alagadda. "Namely, yore Abbey."

She raised a paw and snapped her fingers. In an instant a flood of vermin poured from the gatehouse behind her—rats, stoats, ferrets, and weasels in all manner of ragged garb, whooping with their weapons raised as they stormed the Abbey grounds. Walden tried to count the multitude as they flooded in, knowing it might be important later, but they were too numerous. At least fifty, one hundred—more even. How had they gotten in?

As the vermin horde forced their way through the doors to the Great Hall, obliterating the tranquility of the morning with their warlike cries, Alagadda swept a paw around Walden's shoulder, pulling him close as though they were longtime friends. She materialized a scone a took a wolfish bite out of it. "The stories weren't lies, goodbeast—the vittles here are the best I've e'er had!"


	2. 2

2

Abbott Walden was not the only early riser in the Abbey that morning. Fentress, a young ottermaid, was having unsettling dreams. She woke with a jolt, throwing a paw to her mouth to extinguish a gasp. Heart pounding, she wiped her brow and tried to focus her eyes in the pale light of morning.

Stertorous snores filled the room as bundles of covers rose and fell in the beds around her. Careful to make as little noise as possible, she climbed out of bed and walked tippaw between the rows. Fentress had only been at the Abbey for less than a season, but she had heard about creatures having dreams like hers before, and knew she had to tell somebeast. The problem was, she still felt uncomfortable speaking to the Abbott or any of the other authority figures at Redwall, despite their kind attempts to make her feel welcome. She knew they meant well, but whenever she saw Abbott Walden's stern, serious gaze or heard Sister Selma's hoarse, barking voice Fentress could not help but shirk away behind the nearest protruding object and hope they had not seen her.

She did have one friend to which she could turn, however. Kneeling beside the bed at the end of the hall, she shook the creature nestled beneath the blankets.

"Sully, wake up… please," Fentress whispered.

The squirrelmaid Sullyana, or Sully for short, turned over and bopped Fentress on the snout with a wayward paw. Fentress recoiled, rubbing the offended spot.

"Come on Sully, wake up, I need to talk to you…"

Sully mumbled a little. "Who's there, it's too early."

"It's me, Fen. Please, Sully… It's important!"

Sully had achieved at least some semblance of wakefulness. With one eye clamped shut, she opened the other a midge, scouring the shadows. "What, didja forget the way to the kitchens again? I've shown you a hundred times already!"

Fentress glanced both ways over her shoulders to check if Sully had woken anybeast with her comment. The dormitory remained as still as ever. "No, it's nothing like that—I think I saw Martin the Warrior in a dream!"

* * *

A minute later the two friends were scrambling out of the dormitories, haphazardly throwing on the green habits that served as traditional garb at Redwall Abbey. Sully led the way down the stairs.

"Y'mean to tell me Martin the Warrior, the one an' only Martin the Warrior, visited you in a dream. That wasn't something I just dreamed up myself, right?"

"It had to be him. He looked exactly like he does on the tapestry."

"Well, wot'd he tell ya? Did he say you'll be a great warrior? Did he spin you a riddle? Maybe he pointed the way to some treasure buried underneath the Abbey!"

"No, no, it wasn't like that," said Fentress. She lowered her voice, glancing around lest anybeast was listening. "I don't think it was a good dream, Sully."

"Well, we'll find Abbott Walden and tell him all about it. Perhaps it'd be best to fetch my sister, too. As the Abbey Recorder, Laramie knows all about this kinda stuff. Y'know all the famous Abbey Warriors saw Martin in their dreams? It's a big deal, I'm sure everybeast will be thrilled."

At the mention of Abbott Walden and Sully's sister Laramie, Fentress gritted her teeth and rubbed the back of her neck. "I was thinking I could just tell you about it, and then you could go tell the Abbott if you thought it was worth telling him."

Sully stopped at the foot of the stairwell, rolling her eyes and giving an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, quit the sniveling, Fen. Abbott Walden may be scary when he dishes out chores, but I promise he won't eat you. Especially with your big news!" She seized Fentress by the paw and dragged her along toward the door into the northern courtyard. "Come on, he's always roaming around outside at this hour, let's go find him!"

Although she was a good deal larger than the eager squirrelmaid, Fentress allowed herself to get pulled along. "As long as you promise to do all the talking, Sully."

"What am I gonna say? It wasn't my dream, silly! You'll have to get over your fears, Fen, especially now that Martin's singled you out as the next hero!"

Before Fentress could protest that Martin had done nothing of the sort, they had barreled out the door into the gardens. Although she had lived there for a season, Fentress had never acclimated herself to the grandeur of the Abbey and its tall red walls that loomed into the sky to keep them all safe. But she had only the slightest moment to appreciate the sight before Sully whipped her along and they sped off together paw-in-paw.

"I bet Laramie'll write a whole entry about you in one of her big books. A visit from Martin is nothing to scoff at, Fen. You'll be the talk of the Abbey for the rest of the season!"

The thought of everybeast in Redwall chattering about her did not make Fentress want to hurry any quicker. In fact, maybe the whole thing wasn't worth it anyway. Already parts of her dream were fading from memory. Perhaps it had been nothing but a dream after all.

She was about to tell Sully to forget it and go back to sleep when the squirrel stopped suddenly at the corner of the Abbey belltower. Clinging to the wall, she motioned for Fentress to be silent, her eyes wide with fear.

"Vermin in Redwall!" Sully mouthed.

Fentress's blood went cold. She hugged the wall beside Sully as voices emanated from around the corner.

The first voice belonged to Abbott Walden. Fentress caught only the last snatch of his words: "— I must politely ask you to leave."

The next voice was brusque and vulgar, steeped in vermin dialect that Fentress knew too well. "Relinquish our arms, 'e sez! 'Ow'm I suppos'd to relinquish somethin' attached at the socket!"

She didn't need to hear any more. Turning to Sully, she asked, "What do we do?"

"We have to warn everybeast, or else they'll be murdered in their sleep." Sully took a quick look around. "The belltower! We're right here, we can use the bells to alert the Abbey!"

Sully had already started to scurry for the belltower door when Fentress seized her by the shoulder. "No wait, look over there, at the gatehouse." She pointed. Although it was a long way across the front lawn, a figure could be made out in the upper story gatehouse window, a lanky creature with a bow and arrow. "Whoever they are, they're watching the belltower, probably to stop anybeast from sounding the alarm. We'll be shot dead before we even got one good tug on the ropes."

"You're right," said Sully, taking stock of the situation. "I never would've noticed that, but it's clear as day. Come quick, then—we'll have to warn everybeast the ol' fashioned way!"

The squirrel and the otter dashed back the way they came, up the stairs to the dormitories. Almost all were still asleep, with only a few early risers yawning and stretching as they sat up in bed. Fentress had no time to think; as soon as she and Sully burst through the doors, they immediately started calling out.

"Please, you must wake up, you're in grave danger!"

"Get up, get up, get up, we're under attack!"

A old molewife poked her head out of a cavern of sheets. "Burr, wot bee's all th'commotion about?"

"There's vermin in Redwall," said Sully. "They've taken Abbott Walden prisoner and they've got archers watching the belltower. We need to move fast, now!"

A bustle went up through the half-asleep woodlanders, some still too uncertain about what was going on to fully panic, a few of the more lucid ones rising in fright. There were only two narrow exits at each end of the dormitory; with everybeast confused and disoriented, it was only a matter of time before a stampede erupted, especially if Sully kept screaming her lungs out and working them into a lather.

Taking advantage of the penumbra of the dormitory, Fentress stood at the head of the dormitory and announced, "Please, calm down. We can't go rushing off all over the place, or else the vermin'll cut us down for sure. If we ensure the young and the elderly are taken to safety, we can—"

She froze. Could what? Fight? Run? Fortify? She had no idea if the vermin were in the Abbey itself, or simply on the grounds outside. She tried to consider what the best option would be, but with a hundred eyes fixed on her blinking out of the darkness, her mind went blank and she could think of nothing but to turn her head and stare pleadingly at Sully for aid.

"Vermin, y'say?" boomed a massive voice. From the shadows emerged Friar Alger Delapinn, the Abbey's head cook. Despite his modest occupation, the hulking hedgehog cut an imposing figure, towering over Fentress as he approached with a slight limp he received during his younger seasons. In one paw he clenched a cooking ladle about as menacingly as one can clench a cooking ladle. "'Ow many of the blighters didja say there was again?"

Fortunately, although Friar Alger had addressed Fentress, Sully stepped forward. "At least four, sir—three on the front lawn harassing the pore Abbott, and a fourth skulking in the gatehouse with bow n' arrer."

"A measly four varmints, y'tell me!" said Alger, leaning back and loosing a guffaw. "'Tis no need for panic, missies. Four vermin ain't got the snuff to pick a fight with ol' Alger Delapinn, that they don't!"

Fentress was relieved; Alger had taken charge of the situation. With his powerful voice, he addressed the entire dormitory. "I'll mop up the villains posthaste. T'be safe, though, everybeast here keep their heads down and stay quiet. Oh, and you ladies run along and fetch Fannin from his room. He wouldn't want t'miss a chance t'take a crack at some vermin!"

Although Alger punctuated his order with another hearty bellow, he gave Fentress and Sully an urgent look. Fentress stood dumbstruck with her mouth agape, but Sully, always the quick one, tugged on her habit.

"Come on, let's go!"

They scrambled toward Fannin's room on the opposite side of the Abbey. Fannin was the Abbey Champion, and had been since before either of the girls had been born. Some of the earliest stories Fentress had heard when she came to Redwall were of Fannin's past exploits, adventuring in distant lands and prevailing against exotic foes. In his later seasons he had become a solitary beast, often quiet and reserved even when the subject of his past accomplishments was breached. By "Fannin's room" Friar Alger had meant the library—the place where Fannin spent almost all of his time.

They had not cleared half the distance before a furious din arose from elsewhere in the Abbey; a ferocious melee of war cries and the clatter of metal. Fentress and Sully skidded to a halt along the tile of one of the Abbey's many hallways.

"That ain't the sound of four vermin," said Sully, piquing an ear in the direction of the noise.

"Oh no—You don't think there's more of them, do you?"

Fentress's question was answered immediately. Around the bend at the end of the hallway appeared a pack of vermin, whopping and wielding all manner of blade. Leading the charge was a portly rat with an oversized helm and a wobbly cutlass, which he swished back and forth as he directed his troops.

"Chaaaaaarge! Slay anybeast who fights, but take th'others alive, by orders of Lady Alagadda!"

Fentress and Sully turned the way they came and rushed down the hall, the vermin at their backs. The corridor stretched halfway across the Abbey, lined with pointed windows looking onto the orchard. They had hardly gone two strides before another group of vermin flooded from the opposite end of the hallway.

"We're trapped!" said Fentress.

"This way, quick!" Sully snatched a candlestick from a holder on the wall and hurled it at the nearest window. The pane shattered, the glass shards raining onto the orchard below. In an instant Sully had leapt through the narrow aperture, tumbling onto the grass with an expert somersault that allowed her to land without harm.

Fentress, however, was not a squirrel, and thus not taken to such aerial endeavors. She spent a moment to consider the long drop from the second-story window to the grass. Sully, looking so small down below, beckoned her to follow.

The rat with the wobbly cutlass, being rather fleet of paw despite his roundish size, had pulled ahead of his troops. With a savage hiss, he swung the cutlass at Fentress's head. She ducked the blow and dealt the rat a swift wallop with her rudder, doubling him over. Not waiting for the rat to recover, Fentress dove out the window.

She hit the ground before she realized she was midair. A shock of pain went through the shoulder she landed on, but nothing broke. Immediately Sully grabbed her and started pulling her along. "Com'n, slowchops, there's Friar Alger by the east gate!"

They did not wait around to see if any of the vermin were bold enough to jump after them. Fentress gritted her teeth through the pain in her shoulder and dashed after Sully, who had already sped ahead into the orchard.

Friar Alger stood at the open the east wallgate, holding the door as an assortment of Abbeydwellers trickled through. As Sully and Fentress reached him, he said, "There's far more'n four of 'em out there! The whole Abbey's o'errun with the villains. I had to double back an' get as many as I could out of the danger, e'en if that means gettin' 'em out of the Abbey. Did you reach Fannin?"

"No," said Sully, gasping for breath. "They cut us off afore we could make it to the library."

Alger pushed both of them through the wallgate, along with the last of the refugees from the Abbey. "'Tis alright, ye did th'best ye could. Fannin 'n the rest're on their own fer now—but you can bet a plateful o' me famous plum turnovers we ain't leavin' 'em fer long!"

As he shut the wallgate behind him, Fentress took one last look at Redwall Abbey, which she had only just gotten used to calling home. Then she was on the other side of the wall, and did not turn until Sully tugged at her sleeve and told her it was time to go.


	3. 3

3

The vermin escorted their prisoners to the front lawn and sat them in a huddle, ringed by a row of guards who prodded the more fidgety ones with the butts of their spears. Anybeast who cried out received a quick rap to the back of the skull. As the procession waned, Alagadda of the Many Blades took reports from her captains at the little table she had set up on the lawn, beckoning the somewhat-trusted lieutenants to partake in the best fare Redwall had to offer.

Captain Jareck, the old stoat who had accompanied her when she accosted Abbott Walden, was first. He needed no more than one proffering to start wolfing down a plate of pastries.

Alagadda waited far more than she should have before aheming him. "Your report, Jareck."

Jareck glanced up, wiping crumbs from his gray whiskers. "Report? Wot's this about a report?"

"How goes the attack on Redwall?"

After a moment's contemplation, Jareck reached for a lonely plum turnover. "'Ow's it look? Ye've got eyes, ain't ye?"

In a flash, the turnover was impaled against the table by a thrown dagger. Jareck regarded the spoiled pastry with dismay.

"Y'addlepated know-nothin'," Alagadda hissed, "I asked fer a report, and that's what I wanna hear!"

Undaunted by the sudden ferocity, Jareck reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a ruddy copper coin, which he flicked from paw to paw. "An' 'ow am I s'posed t'know what ye want me t'say? Ye ain't ne'er asked fer a report afore."

"I ain't ne'er been sittin' in Redwall Abbey with a host of captured goodbeasts at my footpaws afore. We ain't rovers n' brigands no longer—it's time we started actin' like a real army!"

Jareck considered, gnawing on the tip of his coin with one long fang. He nodded. "Guess yore right. Well then, 'ere's my report: You're sittin' in Redwall Abbey with a host a captured goodbeasts at yore footpaws. Ye ain't a rover nor a brigand no more—"

Alagadda snatched a scone off the table and flicked it at him. Jareck recoiled, clapping a paw to his face. "Gaah, me eye, ye hit me eye!"

"Git outta my sight," she said, drawing a knife, "Or the next thing I throw won't be no scone!" As Jareck bumbled away, she added: "An' from now on, you'll address me as 'milady,' y'hear?"

Alagadda reclined into her chair and sighed. She cast a bored eye over the creatures huddled before her, some eyeing her carefully with fearful looks, others too concerned with little ones or elders. What a total disappointment. All her seasons she had been raised on stories of the peerless warriors of Redwall Abbey, stories punctuated with the dire warning to all good little vermin: Beware the bells of Redwall! And yet here she was, having taken the entire place without a sole casualty on her side.

Her next captain, a dour-faced fox named Conredd, approached. "Milady, I've inspected the main gate in more detail. 'Tis as you thought—rotted through. If we're to hold this Abbey, it'll need to be replaced quick, else somebeast may enter the same way we did. I'll check the smaller wallgates 'round the Abbey in case they're the same—"

"Don't ye got anythin' more excitin' to gab at me with than the state of the doors," said Alagadda.

Conredd gave a slight bow. He was a natural sycophant, and by extension, a natural fox. Alagadda had bet Jareck on how long until he tried to backstab her, as all of his ilk are inclined to do sooner or later. Jareck had given him far more credit than she had. "Milady, you asked for reports on the state of affairs, and 'tis what I have given you. If 'tis not to yore fancy, then I shall depart, with yore permission."

She waved him off. "Yes yes, dismissed." He melted out of sight nigh instantaneously, and she was grateful he had spared her any further ingratiation.

A commotion arose near the front doors of the Abbey. Six or seven of her lesser hordebeasts struggled to push a lone creature out of the Abbey building and into the crowd with the other woodlanders; despite their insults, prodding spearpoints, and the presence of Alagadda's third captain, the creature made almost no movement whatsoever.

Alagadda rose from her seat, wondering if perhaps something had occurred at the doldrum of an Abbey that might whet her interest. Her third captain, a rat named Kludd, noticed her approach and saluted her smartly with a wobbly cutlass. His oversized helm shifted off his undersized head and clattered to the ground.

"Kludd, I told you to ditch that stupid helmet, t'ain't doin' yew no favors," said Alagadda.

Kludd launched into his report. "I've taken th'Abbey, just as you ordered, Lady Alagadda!"

"And nobeast escaped in the fray?"

Kludd hesitated for half a second, enough for Alagadda to know that whatever he said next was a lie. It mattered little. She would press him later.

"Secured each n' ev'ry room, not a one left unsearched. This mousey's the last of 'em."

He indicated the creature still being prodded forward by his subordinates, in whom Alagadda had taken great interest. The creature was no more than an old mouse, draped in the same green habit all the woodlanders wore, but she could tell by his still-limber musculature that he was no beast of peace, like the others. No, when he glared at her through eyes stoic and unflinching, Alagadda knew that he had the prowess to back up that stare, old though he was.

"Who's he?"

Kludd shrugged. "You'll have t'ask him that yoreself, milady. We found 'im in a big room full a' books, just sittin' there, but he shore gave us a wallopin' with just his bare paws, that's for shore. I'd be careful, he's a real fighter."

Alagadda hoped Kludd spoke sooth. She brushed away the six or seven vermin gathered around the mouse to get a better look at him. Much like the old vole she had accosted earlier, who she had later learned was the place's Abbott, the mouse was smaller than her but unafraid of her advance. But unlike the vole, when Alagadda stared back into the eyes of the mouse, she knew she was looking at somebeast who could potentially kill her. The thought filled her with brimming anticipation.

"Tell me yore name," she asked him.

She worried for a moment he might be one of the silent types, but he soon spoke. "My name is Fannin. I am the Champion of this Abbey. Unless you and your horde release my friends and leave this instant, I will kill you."

A smile crept over Alagadda's features, which burgeoned into a laugh. "Aha! That's the kinda speak I've been waitin' t'hear. Fannin, y'say? An' th'Abbey Champion, no less! I was startin' to worry this accursed ol' Abbey didn't even have a Champion, that it was all hearsay muttered by skittish ol' dams t'keep their runts from squealin' at night. Say, speakin' a' stories, that famous magic blade of Redwall Abbey wouldn't happen t'be real, too, now would it?"

Kludd, realizing he was suddenly relevant again, stepped forward. "Aye, milady, we found the sword, an' the tapestry too!" He pantomimed a series of frantic paw-movements at two of his lackeys, who disappeared into the Abbey and returned moments later carrying the gleaming blade of Martin the Warrior between them.

The two lackeys knelt before Alagadda and held the blade up to her. Kludd knelt as well. "I present to ye, milady, the famed magic sword of Redwall Abbey! 'Twill be an excellent addition to yore collection."

Alagadda took the blade by the hilt. It was surprisingly light, but undoubtedly durable. A cursory appraisal was all Alagadda needed to be convinced of its remarkable quality. Anybeast who fought the wielder of this blade in combat would be foolish indeed.

She planted the sword into the ground before the mouse warrior Fannin. "Go on, take it," she said. "You claimed you'd kill me. Well, here's yore chance."

Fannin's eyes narrowed. Slowly he reached a paw for the hilt of the sword, eyes trained on both Alagadda and the vermin around him.

One of the captives in the center of the lawn stood up. It was Abbott Walden. "Don't, Fannin—it's a trap." A guard forced the vole down with the butt of a spear.

"Here's my proposal," said Alagadda. "You and me, we fight. Nobeast in the way, not any of my soldiers. I kill you, I get yore Abbey to do with it what I will. You kill me, then I'm a deadbeast and my army crumbles 'cuz there ain't nobeast else with the charisma and competence t'lead it. Whaddya say t'that?"

"I've no reason to trust you," said Fannin.

"Then don't. Imagine that I've got all sorts a' dirty tricks up my sleeve. But you swore you'd kill me, and so here I am, and there's yore magic sword. Nobeast'll stop you from pickin' it up, ain't that right Kludd?"

"Er, um, right, milady!"

"In fact, anybeast who takes even a step in the direction of this warrior Fannin answers to me personally. Go ahead, Kludd, try to cut the mouse down with that cutlass of yores, so I can show 'im I'm serious."

Kludd scratched at his collar. "Er, um, is it alright if I, uh, don't do that?"

Alagadda turned back to Fannin. "See? He ain't goin' to interfere."

"And will you give the same threat to the creature in the gatehouse who has an arrow trained on me as we speak?" said Fannin.

Despite herself, Alagadda grinned. The mouse was observant as well—he had spotted Vellis, her fourth and final captain. Vellis would not loose her bow without Alagadda's permission, but to give the mouse peace of mind, she dismissed the sniper anyway. Vellis disappeared from the gatehouse window without a word.

"Satisfied?" said Alagadda.

"I'll not be satisfied until your army is sent fleeing from this Abbey," said Fannin. "Despite your assurances to the contrary, I expect all manner of cheats and trickery from the likes of you. But I'll agree to your duel nonetheless, as I know I can outsmart you."

With hardly any outward exertion, he drew the Sword of Martin from the loamy soil and affected a defensive stance, leaning away from Alagadda as the vermin cleared a berth around him. Vermin and woodlanders alike shouted encouragement to their respective parties.

"Come on, Fannin, trounce that mangy scoundrel!"

"Lop the mouse's head off!"

Alagadda picked two of her many blades at random and drew them. Fannin instinctively took a step back, watching her paws for a twitch, but instead she made a half-lunge which he sidestepped immediately. Alagadda made another lunge, a little further than the first, still swiping at nothing but air. She was not trying to hit him, yet. Instead she studied his response: how fast did he react, which direction did he favor, how close until he switched to the offensive.

She flicked one of the blades at Fannin's footpaw. He dodged back and immediately she was at him with another blade drawn, slicing low at his stomach. He deflected the blow with his sword, sliding back even further, forcing the edge of the circle of spectators to dance back out of his way, none of the vermin daring to be anywhere near the mouse. She followed the first swipe with a second from her other dagger, aimed for the throat, but Fannin dipped under the swing and dove at her with his sword, a move she had not expected from such an old mouse. She span to the side as the metal cut into the skin of her ribs. A sliver of blood splattered onto the grass.

The dodge sent her off-balance and she started to fall. Tucking in her head as she connected with the ground, she somersaulted out of the way of a second swing from the mouse, rolling back to her footpaws and throwing both knives as soon as she rose, which Fannin evaded with one deft motion.

They both took a step back, facing each other, Alagadda breathing much more heavily than the mouse, whose imperturbable gaze never wavered, never wandered. A line of blood ran down the edge of his blade, but Alagadda knew without having to inspect her wound that it was shallow.

Drawing two more knives, she smiled; the fight was good.

She began to circle the makeshift arena, stepping with a slight limp as though her injury were worse than it was. Nothing in Fannin's blank stare indicated he fell for the ruse, which she had not expected and quite frankly would have been disappointed if he had.

From out of the ring of vermin burst Conredd. "What's this," he said. "What's going on here?"

"What's it look like," said Alagadda. "We're havin' a fight, leave us to it."

"Are you daft in the head," said Conredd. "Fightin' one on one like this? Why? What's the gain? We've won the Abbey, an' here you are riskin' all o' that for no reason!"

"The only one daft in the head is you, if you think mouthin' off at me is a good idea!" As she snarled at Conredd, Alagadda kept one eye on Fannin, although the mouse appeared content to remain in a reactive stance.

Conredd let out a long exhalation. "You're hurt."

"Take a step closer an' die," said Alagadda.

"Why're you doin' this?"

"Because I want to!" With a shriek Alagadda launched herself at Fannin, baring her knives like two gleaming fangs. Fannin drew back again but underestimated the ferocity of the lunge, unable to block in time as she crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground.

A collective gasp went up from the audience. Conredd rushed forward, drawing a blade, demanding Kludd and a few of his rats to help. Kludd did not budge.

Fannin and Alagadda had collapsed in a heap at the center of the arena. By the time Conredd reached them, one of the two figures had stirred and started to rise. It was Alagadda of the Many Blades, wiping a lick of blood off her paw. On the ground before her lay Fannin, Champion of Redwall, two knives protruding from his chest. The Sword of Martin remained clutched in one paw.

"Fetch mud and dockleaf for her wounds," Conredd barked.

Although the vermin had obstructed the woodlanders's view of the fight, the outcome seeped its way to them immediately. The initial assault on Redwall had stupefied most of them into shock, but the realization of the loss of their Champion broke the haze that lay over them. Many of the more frightened began to wail, while a few others hurled curses at the vermin and even charged the guards, only to be beaten back immediately.

Amidst the turmoil, Abbott Walden sunk to the ground. He and Fannin had grown up in the Abbey together; they had shared their Dibbunhood. Long ago, fed by stories of adventure, Fannin had gone on an adventure of his own into distant lands. He had offered Walden to accompany him, but Walden had declined, had remained in the safety of the Abbey, and had regretted the decision ever after. Every night lying in bed since that fateful decision, Walden had wondered what would have happened had he gone, imaging himself at Fannin's side, fighting villains with their backs against each other, although Walden had never fought and never truly desired to. After Fannin had returned, Walden had often contemplated inviting him on another adventure, but the seasons passed and Walden had said nothing and now Fannin was dead and there was nothing he could do and—

"Abbott, you can't cry like that," said a young squirrel beside him. It was Laramie, the Abbey's new Recorder. Her eyes were aflame, her teeth gritted, but her words calm. "Everybeast will lose hope if they see you like this."

"Lose hope?" said Walden. "For the first time since its construction, Redwall has fallen. Our Champion—my friend—is dead. What hope is there?"

Laramie helped him back up. "Redwall may have fallen, but that doesn't mean it's over. My sister Sully isn't here, neither are many others. They must have escaped. They won't abandon us—they'll find help. If we persevere, we can fight back. But we need a leader, someone who will remain strong."

Abbott Walden adjusted his spectacles and wiped his eyes. "You're right. You're absolutely right. It ill befits an Abbott of Redwall Abbey to break down in face of tragedy. But although I know these words are true, I cannot bring myself to live by them… Fannin is dead, Laramie. My friend, and he's dead."

"He was friend to us all," said Laramie, squeezing his paw. Her eyes bore into the backs of the heads of the vermin guard, who had started up a chant for their leader, the weasel with the odd name: Alagadda of the Many Blades. Laramie was young and inexperienced in the ways of combat, but as she supported the frail Abbott she knew one thing, and one thing alone; she would kill that creature Alagadda.

If Alagadda had any inkling of the unrestrained ire levied at her, she did not show it. As Conredd tended to her wound, she examined again the Sword of Martin, which she had pried with some difficulty from Fannin's cold dead paw. In the blade she saw her own reflection through the streak of blood still splotched upon the metal.

"So much fer a magic blade," she said.

"You speak as if you wish he'd bested ye, milady," said Conredd. He wrapped a bandage around her torso where the cut was.

"Magic or no, 'tis a good blade indeed. What think ye, Conredd? Shall I change my name to Alagadda of the One Blade and use this for my weapon?"

"Whatever your will desires, milady." Faint derision in his voice. Faint, but detectable.

She shrugged. "'Tis not a blade befits my style, I'm afraid. Captain Kludd! Where's Captain Kludd?"

Kludd pushed his way to the fore. "'Ere, milady!"

"Guess wot, Kludd? It's yore lucky day. I'm givin' you a gift!" She lobbed the Sword of Martin at him. He tried to catch it by the hilt but missed and cut his paw on the blade, dropping it. After scrambling to retrieve it, he gushed a profusion of thanks to which she didn't bother to listen.

Tightening the bandage around Alagadda's waist, Conredd said, "More qualified creatures may've wanted the blade, milady."

"Kludd is a capable beast," said Alagadda. Stepping away from him, she addressed the soldiers thronged around her, many still chanting her name. She held a paw for peace and the courtyard fell silent save for a few sobs from the woodlanders grouped nearby.

"Ye've fought well today," she said. "I'm pleased with the lot of ye. Take the prisoners to the cellar, that'll do for a jail 'til I figure out what I wanna do with 'em. The rest of ye, enjoy yore new home here at Redwall Abbey. Raid the kitchens, set up a feast for suppertime. Understood?"

The vermin erupted into a raucous cheer, raising their weapons in a clatter of hurrahs. Alagadda had heard it all before; they were easy to please. Above, the Abbey bells chimed. One of hers must have climbed up in the excitement to make some noise. Well, let them have their fun.

With Conredd trailing behind her, she passed between her ranks and entered the Main Hall of Redwall Abbey.


	4. 4

4

Scattered and ramshackle, those who had fled Redwall staggered eastward through the dales and glens of Mossflower Wood, forcing their way past the ivy and underbrush dense in the shadowy ways beneath the canopy. Vegetation seeped from every crevice, gnarled and twisted, snagging on skin and habits. Every few seconds somebeast fell and had to be helped back to his or her footpaws.

Friar Alger led the diaspora, warding away the tendrils of the forest with his ladle. "The wood's never been like this afore," he said, delimbing a wayward branch.

Sister Selma of the Infirmary struggled through a thicket alongside him. The spry old mouse had tromped over all manner of bramble to reach the friar. Picking thorns from her fur, she said, "Alger, we cannot continue much longer like this. A fine young beast like yourself can keep going along at this pace, but we have elderly and young with us. We need rest!"

Breathing heavily, Alger glanced back at the ragtag creatures, many collapsing with exhaustion. "Aye, seems you're right. Okay, listen up! We camp here, 'tis as good a spot as any in this wretched snarl we've blundered into. Rest your footpaws and tend to any scratches, I'll see if there's anything I can fix up for vittles roundabouts."

Fentress and Sully were among those to slump to the ground, shuffling around twigs and leaves to make a less uncomfortable spot for themselves. Fentress picked a few leaves from her whiskers and let them sink in the stagnant air of excess verdancy.

"I don't remember something like this ever happening in the stories before," she told Sully.

Sully remained seated for half a second before springing back up and scouring the area. "That's 'cuz it's never happened afore, at least not for longer'n a day at most. It's always the same: vermin show up, posture like they'll take the Abbey, and get what's comin' to 'em—Aha!" She dug into a nearby brush and returned with a double pawful of blackberries. "I knew I sniffed something in all this mugginess."

She fell back to her seat and shared the berries with Fentress. Many of the other Redwallers, having fled on an empty stomach, flocked to her. Sully was glad to share what she had with everybeast. "There's more just behind that brush," she said when the supply ran out.

Fentress bit into a blackberry; it was bitter but good enough for a famished otter. As the woodlanders ate, her thoughts turned toward the dream that had woken her in the morning. "If I had gone straight to the Abbott, maybe I could've changed something," she said, half to herself.

"Oh yeah!" said Sully. "Your dream, right? With what's happened, I bet it's really important!"

Many of the others perked their ears in curiosity.

"Dream? What's this about a dream?"

"Did Martin come to you in a dream?"

"Tell us—what was it?"

The eyes of the creatures turned upon her, blinking out of the darkness, surrounding her. Before panic could seize her, Friar Alger burst from the underbrush, carrying an assortment of fruits and vegetables under his arms.

Fentress was momentarily forgotten. "It ain't much," said Alger, "But I've scrounged up some decent greens for a salad. We'll make do with what utensils we have, and what utensils we have ain't many, but it don't seem we got the option of bein' too picky here."

A ragged cheer went up from the crowd of refugees, who numbered around twoscore. The food combined with the visitation from Martin had lessened the dismal mood that had pervaded through them just moments before, and every well-bodied creature leapt up and volunteered to help Friar Alger prepare the salad. One foresighted mole even revealed a collection of wooden spoons, forks, and knives he had lugged from Redwall.

"Iffen oi hadn't thought to've brung moi gudd silvurr, oi doin't know what we'd bee doin'. Havin' to use urr diggen' claws, no doubt."

Soon Alger passed around a small salad for everybeast, each in a cleverly-arranged leaf bowl. Due to the shortage of utensils, Fentress had to eat hers with a spoon, but she didn't mind much. Alger was nothing if not a capable chef, and he somehow made a delectable dish out of what amounted to wild lettuce and chopped apples. She and Sully had sprinkled some extra blackberries into their salads to add a bit more complexity to the flavor.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation quickly (and regrettably) returned to the topic of Fentress's dream. It started as whispers, many of the woodlanders eyeing Fentress from behind their salads. Fentress was attuned to the stares even from the most surreptitious watchers, and it caused the fur on her neck to bristle as she tilted her head deeper into her salad in an attempt fold in on herself completely.

It was not long before Friar Alger noticed. "What're you all whisperin' about? Something wrong with young Fentress?"

Before Fentress could stop her, Sully piped up. "She saw Martin the Warrior in a dream!"

"Aha! I knew Martin wouldn't roll over an' let his Abbey get taken without some sort've help. Surprised it wasn't Fannin he visited, him bein' the Champion n' all, or mebbe he doubled up an' spoke to the both o' ye. Well now, don't be shy, young lady, spill what he said!"

Fentress knew short of the ground opening up and swallowing them all, no distraction would prevent them from prying what they wanted out of her. She felt awful for not wanting to tell them, even though she wasn't sure if what she said would help much. By the same token, they had all been at the Abbey much longer than her and knew more of its history; they might be able to make sense of her dream, even if she couldn't. Of course, that only made her wonder more than she already had why Martin had chosen her of all creatures.

She wedged her eyes shut and said: "He didn't say anything—that was the odd thing about it. He showed up to me and started to talk—I mean his mouth moved—but no sound came out… it was completely silent. He kept talking and talking but saying nothing—and then the dream ended and I woke up. That's it."

Silence fell among the woodlanders.

"Are you sure that's all of it?" said Alger. "What about his expression, did he look angry? Sad? Was he holdin' anything, any sort of clue?"

"He looked exactly like he did in the tapestry… as if he had been cut out of it. All he held was the sword… That's it, I'm sure of it. Unless I've forgotten something…"

Sully leapt up for about the fifth time since she first sat down. "That must be the clue!" Everybeast looked at her. "The silence, I mean. What talks but says nothing? It must what Martin's tryin' to tell us!"

"That may be the case," said Alger. "'Tis not in Martin's nature to abandon Redwall in our time of need. He visited Fannin once, y'know. Gave 'im a nice good riddle, took a real long time for us to puzzle out, an' that was back when our wits was still sharp, heh heh! What talks but says nothing… Put yore heads together n' mull it over while we march. Sister Selma, assist the infirm. We head east—if we reach the River Moss there's a good chance we'll run into somebeast who can help."

A few of the woodlanders groaned, but climbed to their footpaws anyway. Their spirits seemed to have flagged since Fentress related her dream—but they were not without hope, either. A few chattered amongst themselves of what the dream might mean, rifling through several hypotheses. Even Sully stroked her chin as if thinking incredibly deeply on the subject. What talks but says nothing… That was a good catch. Fentress wouldn't have figured that one out, at least not as quickly as Sully had. Was that really what Martin meant?

Friar Alger lent her a paw to help her up. "Don't look so downcast, young lady," he said, with a booming guffaw. "Martin's riddles ain't meant to be figgered out straightaway. Ye've done good enough today already by gettin' us all outta bed in time."

Fentress lowered her head. "Thank you. I wish I could do more."

"Oh, you'll have plenty of chance for that," said Sully. "Martin only singles out those he finds truly worthy, y'know? You'll be the big hero in no time flat, right alongside Fannin and Friar Alger!"

They turned eastward and plunged deeper into the wood.

* * *

Captain Kludd was enjoying his new weapon. Having discarded the wobbly cutlass, he lorded over the Abbeybeasts with the infamous symbol of their seasons-long dominion over the vermin, waving the Sword of Martin aloft and threatening to smite any disobedient creature at the least provocation as he herded them into the cellar.

Captain Jareck, ever the carrion crow, had cottoned to what had transpired in the duel between Alagadda and Fannin, and now lingered behind Kludd, pressing him on the Sword of Martin. "Yer tellin' me Alagadda just up 'n gave that t'ye?"

"Aye, me and me alone," said Kludd, nudging a laggard mole down the stairs. "She coulda given it to Conredd, or Vellis, y'know how she favors 'em. But she gave it t'me. Must be 'cuz she sees so much potential in me, y'know, as a leader?"

Jareck had seen many creatures in his long seasons; Kludd was a typical fool. Biting onto his copper coin, the old stoat played to Kludd's ego. "Oh, indeed. 'Ave ye heard 'ow she 'n Conredd have been arguin' lately? No doubt she's groomin' yew t'take his place as her right paw."

"Groomin'?" said Kludd. "Wot's that mean?"

"It means it's a shore thing, mate," said Jareck. "Who else would she promote? I'm too old, an' Vellis ain't ne'er been one for givin' orders. Only yew got what it takes, Kludd."

"It makes sense," said Kludd. "I was the one who led the charge on the Abbey, she must be rewardin' me for that."

"Aye, a right perilous thing for ye to do, and courageous too," said Jareck. "I'd've died of fright if she'd sent me to rush all those Abbeybeasts. They're magic, the stories say."

Kludd pumped out his chest, seizing a passing mouse by the back of the head and throwing her down the stairs into the dark of the cellar. "Aye, 'twas pretty brave o' me, wasn't it?"

From outside came a yell: "Kludd! Where are ye, Kludd?" It was Alagadda.

"That must be her comin' t'give the promotion right now," said Kludd, winking slyly at Jareck, who winked back.

Dispensing some lesser hordebeasts to the task of watching the prisoners, Kludd led Jareck up the stairs out of the cellar. When they reached the top step, a lone voice from below shouted:

"That sword doesn't belong to you!"

Kludd whirled back, baring the blade before him, but only darkness returned his glare. "'Ey! Who said that?"

Silence below. Alagadda called for Kludd again, and he forgot the disturbance.

They emerged into daylight. Alagadda was waiting for them, tapping her footpaw. "'Bout time. Jareck, I'm leavin' yew in charge o' the prisoners. Kludd, yer with me, got somethin' to talk to you about."

"Aye, milady," said Jareck, with a bow so elaborate it verged on parody. Giving Kludd one last wink, he descended back into the depths.

Alagadda led Kludd across the Abbey. Kludd knew better than to speak if she didn't. They crossed the front lawn, where the corpse of the mouse warrior Fannin remained, the knives still embedded in his chest. Alagadda stepped over the lifeless body on her way to the front doors; Kludd went around.

"Imagine," said Alagadda. "Had the beasts who lived here not been so tidy, this Abbey'd be too dense with skellingtons of our ancestors for us to walk."

Kludd wondered if this was a prompt for conversation, but since he had nothing much to add to the observation, he kept quiet. She would get to the business of promotion in good time.

They wound up at the east end of the Abbey, by the wallgate. Conredd was fiddling with the gate, knocking a paw against the wood and listening to the sound. Kludd didn't like that. Conredd didn't factor much into his plans for promotion. But Alagadda had snubbed the fox once already by giving Kludd the Sword of Martin, so perhaps it meant little that he was there now. Yes—Alagadda must have brought him here to deliver the news so she could rub it in Conredd's smug upturned snout. No other option made sense.

They stopped in front of the gate. "Tell me, Kludd, whaddya see here?"

"I see yore most trusted captain, milady," said Kludd, already imagining her response: Oh, no, Kludd, he's my most trusted captain no longer. That honor now belongs solely to—

"You clod, I ain't talkin' 'bout Conredd. I'm talkin' 'bout the gate!"

Kludd flinched, although she had made no aggressive motion other than to fling her paw out to indicate the east door of the Abbey wall. "'Tis no more than a regular gate, milady!" said Kludd, hoping it was the right answer and knowing it wasn't.

"A regular gate, shore. But Conredd, why don't ye enlighten our friend as to what state you found this gate in when you first encountered it?"

"Rotten," said Conredd. "Same as the others. They'll all need replacin'."

Alagadda tore at her headfur. "Argh! I already told yew I don't give one whit about that! Tell him the other thing!"

"Oh yeah. Found just as it is now: wide open."

Kludd gulped. He knew where this was going.

"Now then," said Alagadda, "What possible reason could this pore innocent gate have for bein' so disorderly and out o' sorts? You mind takin' a guess, Kludd?"

"M-m-m-mebbe the latch got too soft an' broke?"

She struck him in the mouth with the back of her paw. Kludd toppled over and covered his face to defend himself from an onslaught, but instead of striking him again Alagadda simply stepped down on his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. "You know darn well that the gate's open for one reason an' one reason only: 'cuz somebeast's escaped. I took a gander at the bedrooms in this place and they got room for a hunnerd at least, an' we only rounded up threescore of 'em. That's twoscore unaccounted for, Kludd, since I know ye ain't so keen on yore 'rithmetic."

Still stepping on him, she drew a knife and leaned over until she had the point pressed against his snout. "You know wot this means fer yew, right?"

Kludd wheezed, "Y-y-yer angry at me?"

All at once the pressure lifted as Alagadda stepped back and laughed. "Whate'er gave you that idea, nimwit? Go on, get up, quit yer snivelin'."

Still uncertain the intentions of his superior, Kludd slowly climbed to his footpaws, trying to calm the uncontrollable trembling that had spread through his body. "Y-yer not mad?"

"Not yet. Go round up a score o' yore closest friends, yer goin' huntin'. Dependin' on what happens when you come back, then we can talk about mad."

She gave him a shove and sent him tottering off toward the Abbey building. He did not need a second bidding, thankful enough to have come out of the encounter with his life.

Alagadda watched him disappear into the Abbey. Once he had, she leaned against the sandstone wall and rapped an idle paw against the wormwood. A dull thunk percolated from her knuckle. Beyond the open gate, the trees of Mossflower stood sleepy sentinel over the land.

"Are you goin' to be one of those warlords who offs their own soldiers willy-nilly," said Conredd.

"Nah, Kludd's just too easy a target t'pass up," said Alagadda. "Are yew goin' to be one of those captains who won't give my ear a rest with yore incessant yappin'?"

"I'm already one of those," said Conredd. "Speaking of which. Whether you have faith in Kludd or not, you're sendin' him—and more importantly, that sword—straight back to where the Abbeybeasts can get their paws on it. Kludd ain't even a good tracker. Send Vellis instead."

"Kludd'll go. An' to make sure he don't muck up, I'm goin' with him."

"There's no reason for that," that Conredd. "Send Vellis, and any other good trackers. Have 'em scout out where the Abbeybeasts ran off to, then send me and a good group of troops to crush 'em. Or better yet, use the threescore we did manage to capture as bait to lure 'em to us, so we don't hafta go trompin' through the woods in the first place."

"Boring," said Alagadda.

Conredd's eyes narrowed. "Not t'mention, we had plenty o' time once we got into the Abbey to put guards at each gate to stop this from happenin' to begin with."

"Whoops, didn't think a' that one."

"I believe I suggested somethin' o' the sort to you. I distinctly remember it, actually."

"An' how're you s'posed to expect me to listen to each n' ev'ry bit of benign advice that comes out yore ever-flappin' jaw, Conredd? By the way, while I'm gone, get the situation with the doors sorted out, so you don't have t'bother me about 'em anymore. Will that satisfy you?"

From the Abbey, Kludd and a gaggle of troops picked seemingly by random had emerged, Kludd leading them with some of his reclaimed boldness now that he didn't have Alagadda eyeing daggers at him. Alagadda had to give the rat at least some credit; he worked fast when he had to.

"I'll not be satisfied 'til you quit actin' a fool and start approachin' this with reason, milady," said Conredd. "You n' I've both heard too many stories o' foolish vermin warlords who lost everythin' just 'cuz they couldn't think with any sort of rational decision-makin'."

Alagadda shrugged. "I ain't got much t'lose either way," she said.

"Wot kinda talk is that. Ye got an Abbey to lose, an' an army, an' yore life."

"We'll talk about this later," she said as Kludd stopped beside her an saluted. "I've got some woodlanders to hunt down now."

Motioning Conredd aside, Alagadda led Kludd and the twenty vermin through the open gate and into Mossflower Wood.


	5. 5

5

In the Redwall Abbey cellar the captives sat, wrists bound by rope, eyes blinking in the dark midst the stacked barrels of ale and fizz that lined the walls. The only light came from a single candle on a round table around which sat Captain Jareck and a posse of five or six cronies, each with their own bottle of drink freely pilfered from the cellar stores.

Jareck retrieved a ragged deck of cards, edges torn and bent. Abbott Walden, watching from the cobblestone, had used such a deck before, to play solitaire during moments of contemplation. Solitaire was not the game the vermin were going to play.

Jareck clopped the side of the deck against the table and started to shuffle. "The lot of ye seem a raggy lookin' bunch. 'Ow many of ye've played afore?"

"Played wot," said a vermin of indeterminate species near the fringe of the candlelight.

Nibbling on his ruddy coin, Jareck flicked the cards from paw to paw. "Played wot, 'e asks. Played wot."

"Stow it, Switz," said a rat on the opposite end of the table, "Yew wouldn't unnerstand anyway."

"But 'ow's I s'posed t'play if I don't know wot we're playin', Letcher," said Switz.

"You ain't playin'," said Letcher, who had a nasty overbite. "Yer in charge of watchin' the prisoners while we play."

"Now now," said Jareck. He dealt around the table, hardly moving his paws but landing the cards where he wanted. "There's room enough for everybeast, an' this's the kinda game's the more fun the more's playin'."

The various vermin gathered round the table eyed Jareck incredulously. "We ain't playin' fer fun," sneered Letcher.

"Alright then," said Jareck. "Put yore bets on the table, mates."

A clatter and bustle arose as a pile of items appeared in the center of the table, ranging from sheathed daggers to small trinkets of metal and bone. Jareck took the ruddy coin from between his fangs and dropped it on the top of the pot.

"Who'd want yore gross ol' coin," said another vermin, a female ferret.

"Be deceived not by its appearance," said Jareck. "That coin's one hundred per cent solid gold, I tell ye, worth more'n the lot of yore junk combined. I figger I oughtta put in somethin' extra since yer all still beginners, 'twouldn't be fair otherwise."

"Ah come on," said Letcher. "Put in yore weapons."

Jareck held up his paws. "I ain't carryin' no weapons," he said. "'Tis not my forte."

"Wot's a fore-tay," said Switz.

"If he's bettin' a gross ol' coin," said the female ferret, "I ain't playin'."

"Me neither!"

Jareck, sensing the discontent, relented. He took back the coin and bit into it. "Okay, okay, have it how ye like. Anybeast beats me they're relieved from guard duty fer the rest o'the night, how's that sound?"

This settled much better with the other vermin and they leaned back over the table with murmurs of affirmation, seizing at the cards arrayed before them, jostling and heckling each other over their respective chances of victory.

Abbot Walden, studying their behavior from below, felt somebeast tug at his habit. It was Laramie the Recorder. "Over here," she said, "A few of us are having a meeting on what to do next."

Walden nodded. Unnoticed by the vermin, he scooted across the cellar, following Laramie on a makeshift path between the other Redwallers to one of the far corners tucked between a pair of stacked barrels. Foremole Griggs, Cellarhog Gilmer Delapinn (brother of Friar Alger), and Brother Roane the Abbey Bellringer were gathered there.

"Allow me to apologize," said Roane as soon as Walden had made his way into their tightly-knit circle. The young squirrel had always been skittish and clumsy, trying and failing at jobs as both gardener and cook's assistant before Walden had appointed him to one of the simpler tasks at the Abbey. "If I had—If I had been at my post, where I was supposed to be, if I could have rung the bell in time, then maybe—"

"Then maybe you would've gotten yourself killed," said Walden. "Did you see the vermin in the gatehouse that Fannin pointed out, before he—before he fought with that warlord? They had archers in full view of the belltower. Vermin aren't stupid, at least when it comes to ways of battle."

"Even if they'd shot me, I could've sounded the alarm," said Roane, kneading his paws. "Two good rings—it's all I would've needed. I would've prevented all this. I would've saved Fannin."

"A lot of things could have been done to prevent what has happened here," said Abbott Walden. "I'm fairly certain the vermin got in because the gates have gone rotten and soft with seasons of disrepair. It was my responsibility to manage this Abbey to prevent such a thing. However, we cannot allow ourselves to sink into a cycle of regret at events already passed. Fannin did not die regretting that he had not been ready for the attack—he died trying to save us. Until Redwall Abbey is back safe and those vermin ousted, I will not allow a shred of self-blame for what has transpired here—even on the part of myself. There is only one creature to blame, and that is Alagadda of the Many Blades. We must not forget that."

Roane bowed his head in a stilted nod, and murmurs of assent went up from the others in the circle.

"Loik oi alwuss sez," said Foremole Griggs, "Et bain't no gudd worryin' 'bout the past, when the present's enough t'be worryin' 'bout on its own."

"Well spoken, Foremole," said Walden. "I've always been fond of your ability to condense my longwinded speeches into one concise sentence. I'll brook no further discussion on the subject. We must now plan for the present."

"And I plan we have," said Laramie. "I've already talked it over with Gilmer and Griggs. We think we can escape—all of us—as early as tonight."

"Aye," said Cellarhog Gilmer. He was every bit the size of Alger, with only somewhat less gruff and tumble. "These vermin watchin' us, they've wasted no time plunderin' my kegs. Normally I'd not be takin' too kindly to such thievery, but in this case it ain't such a bad thing. If they keep imbibin' at the rate they are for the rest of the day, the lot of 'em'll be laid out flat by bedtime."

Walden mulled it over. "The closest escape from the Abbey is the south gate. It's not a long trip, but it'll be difficult to get threescore Redwallers, old and young included, outside without any vermin noticing."

"Ah, but don't you remember what Alagadda said?" asked Laramie. "The vermin will be feasting tonight, enjoying their spoils. They wouldn't expect us to stage an escape attempt our first night captured. In fact, they probably expect us to moan and whine and cry, like the peaceful woodlanders they think we are. But we'll show 'em differently, won't we?" She nudged Brother Roane.

Roane nodded. "Right!"

"It'll be difficult to move with our paws tied," said Abbot Walden.

"Leave that to me," said Gilmer. With his bound paws he motioned at a nearby keg of seasons-old ale. "This ol' keg's been fallin' apart for awhile now, kept thinking to replace it, but never went through with it. But see here, the metal band that holds the barrel together's comin' off, leaving a nice strip of jagged edge. Watch." Putting his bound paws out, Gilmer rubbed the knot of the rope against the edge. Although the rope was thick, the metal band was able to make a small cut, severing a few strands. "It'll take time, but by nightfall I can have my bounds off, and from there untie as many of you as I can."

"Burr," said Foremole Griggs, "Oi'll sniff around an' see if thurr ain't nothin' else furr ussen's t'cut rope with."

"Good plan," said Abbott Walden. "I'm proud that all of you have put something like this together so fast. I'll go around and alert as many as possible as to what we intend to do tonight. Laramie, Roane, keep an eye on the guards—they may not all be asleep by the time we want to escape, and we may have to fight them. Watch for what kinds of weapons they have and where they keep them."

"Yes, sir," said Laramie with a salute.

Despite everything, Abbott Walden found he could manage a smile. Mustering an abysmal Long Patrol hare accent, he said, "Pip pup, ol' gel, you're actin' right military if I do say so myself! I'd never expect such mettle from the Abbey's chief Recorder!"

The younger members of the war council stifled laughter. Growing serious, the old vole Abbott adjusted his spectacles. "When and if we escape, our first course of action will be to meet up with Friar Alger and Sister Selma, as well as anybeast else with them. Once we get to that point, we'll discuss what to do next. Understood?"

The other members nodded in unison, before scattering to their respective tasks.

* * *

Friar Alger was lost, although he tried not to show it. In his youth he had romped up and down the woods and known every shrub, but it had been many seasons since then and now everything had changed, everything had become unfamiliar. The thickness of the foliage had only deepened and the River Moss remained nowhere in sight—indeed, nothing remained in sight except green, green, green, enough green to make a creature green himself. He kept telling himself if they continued heading east they would reach the river sooner or later, but sooner and later had both passed and still they had found nothing. Had they gotten mixed up under the canopy and gone in another direction? Squinting, he tried to peer through the branches and leaves above, but the sun had become an all-encompassing orb blotting out the small openings in the treetops; he could read nothing of it.

He didn't want to alarm the fatigued and frightened creatures under his jurisdiction, but there was no helping it. "Anybeast know where we are?"

Nobeast spoke. Alger scanned their blank, watchful eyes, but found nothing.

From somewhere in the middle of the pack came a jostling. "Come on Fen—tell him!"

It was Sullyana and her friend, the new otter Fentress who had had the dream. The much smaller Sully was shaking Fentress, pushing her forward despite the otter's protests. Alger liked the two of them—they were eager young goodbeasts who had helped many of the less capable through the more difficult patches of terrain. He beckoned them forward. "Have one of ye somethin' to say?"

Sully gave up on her friend with a sigh. "Fen says we're not far from the river—we just need to keep headin' the way we're going."

"Is there a reason why Fentress can't tell us this herself?"

"'Cuz she's a great big sillybeast," said Sully.

Alger shrugged and let it be. From what he knew of Fentress, she was a shy one, as a result of something that had happened to her before she came to the Abbey, something Abbott Walden had requested not be mentioned if at all possible. Alger had understood at first, but after a season at Redwall she had not overcome her fears in the slightest, which Alger thought merited a little extra nudging. However, now was not the time. He wanted to keep moving. Stopping to break fast so soon and for so long had been a mistake. It was only a matter of time before—

"Shh!" said a young mouse near the back of the convoy. "Listen!"

They listened. Through the humid murk of the wood, voices emerged. Faint and muffled, impossible to tell how close or how far. The voices were unmistakably vermin.

Through gritted teeth, Alger whispered, "Everybeast, we need to get movin'—now!"

As he raised his ladle to knock a path through the nearest tree, Sister Selma stepped in front of him. "Alger, no. We can't outrun them. They're in much better shape than us and they're using the path we've already cleared for them, while we still have this bramble to cut through. We need to think of another idea."

"We don't need to go far," said Alger. "Fentress says we're close to the river. Once we're there—"

"Once we're there, then what?" said Selma. "We'll fare no better fording a river than we will racing through these woods. Running is not the answer!"

The encroaching voices had become close enough to be heard.

"Lookit, Lady Alagadda—the trail goes this way!"

"I can see that, Kludd. I'd have t'be blind not to see the big trompin' mess they've cut through these woods."

Racking his brains, Alger sought an answer. "We'll ambush 'em—hide in the shrubs and attack as they pass. If we surprise 'em well enough—"

One look at Selma told him all he needed to know about the feasibility of that particular plan.

"I know!" piped up Sully, who had pushed her way to the front. "I'll rush off in some other direction, making sure to make enough noise that they'll have to hear me. An' when they go chasing after me, the rest of you can escape to the river!"

"A distraction, eh?" said Alger. "'Tis a good plan, but you're too young to go it yourself. I'll be the one—"

"No, no, no," said Sully. "You're too old. No offense, but it's true. I'm young and fast, and I can weave in and out of the trees much quicker than a gang of vermin. You'll just get tangled up in the branches and stuck."

Sister Selma wagged a finger. "Now now, young lady, that's no way to speak to your elders."

"Ah, I was never one to stand on ceremony anyway. The girl's right—and we don't have time to press the issue further. Either now or never, the vermin're almost here."

"I don't know," said Selma. "How can we be certain she can evade the vermin? Or that they'll even go for her instead of us? This plan is too unsafe."

Sully stamped her footpaw and rolled her eyes. "Ugggggggh, Sister Selma, we don't have time for this! Look, I can't guarantee it'll work, but it's the only idea we got!"

"We have," corrected Sister Selma, to a collective groan from everybeast in earshot.

Fentress, who had been standing inconspicuously beside Sully the entire time, made a timorous step forward. "There's a swamp due north of here," she said. "It's not far, I've been there before, I know it well enough. If Sully and I can lead the vermin into it, we can give them the shake and meet back with you at the river."

"And now young Fentress is going on this foolhardy endeavor as well?" said Sister Selma. "I cannot abide this display of recklessness."

"Sister Selma," said Alger, "You're a dear an' all, I've owed you my life on more'n one occasion, but t'listen to you now I'd think you want all've us to just sit here an' wait t'be captured. Now, I ain't one to say that these young'un's plan is flawless, but unless you got a better idea, I suggest you quiet down, marm. Beside, Martin the Warrior came to Fentress in a dream—if he can put his faith in her, then I sure can."

A branch nearby snapped, causing everybeast to leap to attention. It had been nothing more than a mole shifting his weight, but the reminder of impending danger was enough to quiet further objections.

* * *

Not far away, Alagadda and the twenty assorted vermin Kludd had arranged pushed pell-mell through the forest. Although the path of the woodlanders was still quite clear, it seemed as though the woods had regrown much of the greenery destroyed during the exodus, so progress did not move as quickly as Alagadda liked. Kludd, well-attuned to his superior's moods, attempted to placate her.

"We're gettin' close, milady—I can feel it!"

"Well enough," said Alagadda. A ferret marching in front of her tripped over a vine with a clumsy shout. "Yew an' yore gang've made enough racket trackin' 'em that they'll've scattered by now."

Before Kludd could stammer a response, a pair of blurs came crashing out of the underbrush before the cavalcade, whooping and hollering, and immediately vanished back into the woods through a knot of branches.

The vermin stood gaping for a moment before Alagadda brained the closest on the back of the head. "Go on, after 'em!"

"B-but milady," said Kludd. "It's gotta be a trap!"

Alagadda knew it was a trap. Whoever had dashed in front of them had no reason to dash in front of them unless they wanted to grab their attention, and the only reason anybeast would want to grab their attention was to misdirect them and thus lead them into an ambush. Alagadda knew all about misdirection and sleight of hand—she had, after all, suffered Jareck's company for so many seasons.

Alagadda had always enjoyed Jareck's magic tricks. Especially when she saw right through them.

"Yer afraid of the trap a buncha defenseless woodlanders've set up? What are ye, lily-livered? I said after 'em!"

Without waiting for her lackeys to get their mental faculties in order, Alagadda drew two knives and charged forward, slicing at branches and vines and tendrils and creepers that stretched in front of her as she dove into the thick of the woods. Kludd shouted a dutiful "Attack!" and followed her, after ensuring a few of the lesser hordebeasts had taken up position ahead of him.

Meanwhile, Fentress and Sully had plunged into the darkness a little ways before stopping to wonder if the vermin had taken the bait.

"I don't hear 'em coming," said Sully.

"I thought I heard somebeast yell to attack," said Fentress.

Sully picked at strip of bark from a nearby tree. An unctuous sap oozed out. "Confound this forest, all my senses are mixed up. What if they kept goin' and found Alger and the others?"

"Maybe we ought to—"

A dagger whizzed between them and impaled the strip of bark in Sully's paw. Fentress glanced up to see a lithe form emerging out of the shadows of the forest before Sully told her to run and she started to run without having told her footpaws to do so. As soon as she turned something long and sharp struck her just over the eye and drew blood, but she ignored the pain as Sully flitted ahead of her, disappearing into the bramble ahead. But Sully didn't know the swamp to the north—if Fentress didn't catch up to her, she would rush headlong into the mire. That more than anything forced her forward, throwing her paws up in front of her to ward away the endless thorns of the forest.

"Sully, wait, don't go too far!" she shouted, her voice hardly trailing in front of her in the grimy air.

"Sully, wait, don't go too far!" said a mocking voice close behind.

Fentress wheeled around to face who had spoken, knowing the voice was too close to outrun. Something barreled into her stomach and she went hurtling backward in a rush of leaves, hitting the ground and rolling with the air escaping her lungs in one harsh gasp as she skid through mud and sand to a halt several lengths from where she had started.

She tried to roll over and get back to her footpaws but whatever had bowled her over levied a sharp kick to her ribs and knocked her flat again.

Fentress cast a bloody eye upward at the long, knife-clad weasel standing above her. The weasel had a devious grin.

"You thought you could outrun Alagadda of the Many Blades, didja? Well. You couldn't."

From the trees behind Alagadda emerged Kludd and the other vermin. Fentress recognized Kludd as the rat with the wobbly helmet she had encountered on her flight from Redwall. Instead of the cutlass, however, he now held—the Sword of Martin?!

She tried to rise again and was surprised when she managed to do so without receiving another kick. Groaning from the pain in her sides, she realized that Alagadda and the other vermin were all staring at something behind her. She turned.

An expanse of swampland lay beyond her.

She did not see Sully at first and for a moment feared the worse until she espied the young squirrel clinging to a branch some ways out over the swamp. "Fen!" Sully shouted, uselessly.

"Lookit that swamp," said Kludd. "I betcha they were tryin' to trick us into blunderin' headfirst into that. Well, we ain't dumb enough fer that! Haw-haw-haw!"

The swamp bubbled and steamed.

Alagadda addressed Sully. "Now there, young miss. Sully, I believe I heard yore friend call you. And yore friend here, Fen, y'say her name is? Well then, a Fen and a bog, 'tis fate, or chance, or what will you."

"Let her go!" said Sully, climbing to the next branch that hung over the swamp.

"Let her go? I ain't even holdin' her, how'm I s'posed to let her go? Now be a good girl and come back o'er here, so we can have a nice, polite little chat, yeah?"

"Just run, Sully," said Fentress.

But Sully had already started to climb back through the branches toward the earthen knoll at the edge of the swamp. Fentress sighed—if she came back, the vermin would only kill them both.

"That's a good girl," said Alagadda as Sully crawled across the tree limbs. "I ain't one to waste breath killin' beasts that ain't worth it, like the two a' yew. If there ain't no problem 'twixt us, there ain't no need for dyin'. So let's not make there be any problems."

"Whaddya want," said Sully. She had stopped at a branch close to the edge of the swamp, but far enough away from a swordstroke should one be levied in her direction.

"Where's the rest of yore clan?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," said Sully.

A knife whipped out from Alagadda's paw and stuck into the branch Sully was lying on. "Yeah, I would like t'know, that's why I'm askin' ye. Now—"

"Lady Alagadda," said a vermin.

"—Now that ain't nearly the only knife I can sling yore way, as you can plainly see, and I don't have to sling 'em at all to get at this nice young otter here. So—"

"Lady Alagadda," said a vermin.

"—So let's not do that whole rigamarole with the smart mouthin' and same such nonsense and skip right to the part where I'll kill yore friend first and then yew if yew don't cooperate."

Fentress and Sully exchanged a look. Should they risk telling her? The most they could even say was that the others had made a break for the River Moss, which if the vermin knew the slightest bit about the geography of the area probably already knew simply by the direction of the trail Alger and the others had made. Did Alagadda expect something more specific? Fentress tried to judge the weasel's temperature, her mood. But it was impossible to read her; Fentress wouldn't be surprised if Alagadda was simply making things up as she went along.

"Lady Alagadda," said a vermin.

"What," said Alagadda.

The vermin who had spoken was a thin, spindly ferret near the back of the gang. He stared out of saucer-dish eyes.

"We ain't alone."

Something long and dark detached itself from the spine of the nearest tree, an unfolding celadon shape emerging from the bogwood that culminated in a set of long, curved claws, glinting like polished steel. The spindly ferret had no time to scream, no time to move as the flickering thing pounced, latching all its sharp points into the motionless vermin.

Nobeast said a thing as the green monstrosity tore into the ferret's neck. Finally, Alagadda said: "Wot's that, a lizard?"

Another of the green shapes rose from the marsh behind her trailing waste and excess as it unhinged its needle-laden jaw and bit into her shoulder. Fentress stumbled back aghast as Alagadda calmly and cooly plunged a knife into the jaundiced eye of the lizard, although doing so did not remove it from her body as they fell to the ground together.

The dumbfounded silence broke. From all sides rushed more of the monstrous lizard things, scales and talons and ivory flashing in the dim light descending over the bog. The vermin, screaming, ran in any direction they could, which was no direction, as no matter where they went they collided with another of the lizards revealing its unnatural visage from a spot camouflaged in a mound of moss. The few with sense charged into the swamp.

"Fen, give me your paw!"

Sully dangled precariously from the nearest branch, extending an arm toward Fentress. Fentress did not hesitate—she would have leapt over an endless abyss if it held the slightest shred of hope to escape the things swarming out of the woods and the swamp and even the ground beneath her. She leapt, able to bypass Sully's paw altogether (she would have pulled Sully down before Sully pulled her up anyway) and seize the low-hanging branch, kicking at the air with her legs to help anchor herself to the perch. Sully helped as best she could.

A hulking, serpentine lizard with a reddish pallor leapt after her, slicing a claw through Fentress's habit but only nicking the skin as she pulled herself onto the branch. The reddish lizard glared at her from below with a soulless eye before forgetting the escaped prey and leaping into a stoat already under attack from two other lizards. Fentress shivered.

Most of the vermin yet alive had fled into the swamp, where many slowly sank into the mire, still groping forward for a nonexistent vine or branch with which to pull themselves out, most not even having the luck to have fallen in a spot unreachable by the lizards, which with birdlike movements climbed across the detritus to fish for the hapless lumps of meat. Only three vermin had managed to stay aground as they delved deeper into the swamp: a ferret, a stoat, and the rat captain with the Sword of Martin, who had made the most distance of all of them. The ferret and stoat, running alongside each other, soon slipped and fell together on a slippery patch and tumbled headfirst to their end, but Kludd kept going, surprisingly nimble for a rat of his stature, hacking and slashing the air with Martin's Sword. The lizards, having dispensed most of the other prey, made fleet progress after him, and with a frantic scream, Kludd dove over a felled tree trunk only for ten or twelve of the lizards to dive immediately after him.

"This way, to the next branch," said Sully.

Before she could point out exactly which branch she meant, something leapt from below and seized hold of the branch they were already on. It was Alagadda, one shoulder trailing blood and one arm hanging limp and useless behind her, but the other arm enough for her to start pulling herself up.

"Forget her, to the next branch!" said Sully.

But Fentress knew that the branch they were on would not support the three of them for as long as it would take to get off it. As the limb splintered, Fentress tore a leafy bough from the tree and pelted Alagadda's paw and then face with it. Alagadda, undaunted, managed to hoist her lower body onto the branch.

The branch snapped.

Something—either Alagadda or Sully or the branch—lashed out and hit Fentress in the face moments after they struck the ground. Unsure if she was rightside up or not, Fentress writhed to pull herself out of the mud, but the mud was everywhere.

Alagadda had already risen and dug a dagger into the throat of a lizard who stalked her way, drawing another and baring it at another pair of reptiles who watched her unblinkingly. "Come on then," she spat, "Come'n sink yore fangs into this!"

Fentress pulled herself onto the embankment, huffing and panting with exertion. She searched around for Sully. The squirrel had not fallen far, but the branch had landed on her ankle, which she tugged at to extricate with no avail. Fentress helped her to try and lift the branch.

The lizards had not attacked. Fentress glanced up to see why—Alagadda and the big reddish lizard from before had locked into a staredown, Alagadda swishing a dagger through the air with her good arm, the other lizards gathered behind what must have been their leader. That was good—if they were all distracted with one another, that meant they weren't paying attention to Fentress and Sully, which meant escape. Or it would if this branch didn't weigh so much!

"Go on, get out while you can," said Sully. "I'll slip out after you."

Fentress didn't bother responding as she braced her back against the branch and pushed with all her might. Her footpaws scraped through the mud and she gained no traction.

The branch didn't budge. Heaving, Fentress said, "We'll have you out in a second, then we go."

"Come on, ugly," said Alagadda to the red lizard. "Come on and fight me, yew big coward! Lookit me, got an arm's hangin' by a thread from the socket and yew ain't got the gall to come at me, yew slimy overgrown salamander!"

Hissing, the red lizard lunged forward at her, baring claw and fang. Alagadda shifted her weight and prepared to strike with her knife, but before the two could collide an arrow shot out from somewhere and planted itself in the lizard's chest. The lizard staggered back, admiring its new accessory, prodding the gold-feathered fletch of the shaft with a single claw.

Another arrow struck the lizard lower in the side, but it bounced against the scaly hide and fell to the ground.

From the woods emerged a figure in a long hooded cloak, with a quiver of feathers on its back and a yew bow in its paws. It already had a third arrow notched and aimed at the red lizard.

Extending its dextrous neck, the lizard bit into the shaft in its chest and wrenched the arrow out, spitting it into the mud.

"No scales on yore eye," said the figure. The voice was female. She nodded to the sole slain lizard on a ground dense with corpses—the one that had bitten Alagadda's shoulder. The hilt of a dagger extended from a gouged socket.

The red lizard considered the arrowhead aimed at its own eye. With a low growl it motioned at the other lizards—only a few remaining, the others having chased the vermin who fled—and they scattered back into the swamp, melding into the mossy overgrowth and vanishing.

The swamp was silent save for the moan of one of the vermin on the ground.

The hooded figure took off her hood. She was a weasel.

"Vellis," said Alagadda, "What're you doin' here—"

Vellis strode forward and brained Alagadda across the crown of her head with the bow. Alagadda slumped to the ground, senseless. Giving a look to neither Fentress or anything else, Vellis hoisted Alagadda onto her shoulder with a grunt before marching back they way she came, into the forest.

Fentress didn't bother to puzzle over what she had just witnessed. With the immediate danger gone, she gave a renewed effort against the branch and shuffled it aside enough for Sully to pull her paw free.

"I'll help you. Here," said Fentress.

"No, I'll manage." Sully picked up a strong stick from the ground and propped herself against it. "Let's skedaddle afore those lizards come back."

A ferret on the ground moaned. "Wait, wait… y'can't leave me here!" He had sustained a bad-looking wound to his side, and clutched a paw to the spot as he shuffled to right himself amidst the carnage of his compeers.

From the swamp, yellow eyes stared. Somewhere deep within the marshland, a creature screamed. It might have been a birdcall, but Fentress saw no birds.

"Let's go, Fen," said Sully, hobbling into the woods on her stick.

Fentress held up a paw to wait. She grabbed the wounded ferret and dragged him away from the other corpses. He made a perilous shrieking noise as she tried to pull him up.

"We ain't got time to take him with us," said Sully.

"Nobeast, not even vermin, should have to die to those… things," said Fentress, struggling with the ferret.

"Well hurry it up," said Sully.

Fentress hurried it up, and dragging the ferret behind her, they returned to the safety of the wood. The yellow eyes of the swamp watched them go.


	6. 6

6

The ferret died before he could tell them his name. One moment he was moaning and twitching as Fentress dragged him through the underbrush, then he shuddered and died. They covered him with some thick ivy and broke camp to rest.

"It'll be night in a few hours," said Sully idly, making a poor show of concealing her wounded paw.

"You'll need to have that looked at," said Fentress.

"It's fine."

"It's not."

With a sigh, Sully reclined against a tree and let Fentress examine her wound. It wasn't broken, which was good, but the good ended there, because the ankle was swollen and purple and knotted. The branch must have cut off circulation when it landed, as well as dealing a nasty sprain. Fentress knew only rudimentary medicine. She could not help Sully much.

"It's a bad idea to wander at night through the woods, especially with a paw like that," said Fentress, standing. "We should find a hovel of some sort and make shelter until morning. Then we head to the river and regroup with Alger and the others."

"I'm fine, we can go now," said Sully. "The river's not far, right? We'll make it afore sundown."

"We make shelter," said Fentress. "Besides. We can't leave the swamp just yet. Did you see that rat?"

Sully almost jumped up, but winced and stayed down. "The one carryin' Martin's Sword? Aye, I saw the blackguard. What kinda beast'd give such a fat runty fellow such a thing? That Alagadda or whatsit, you think she's the leader?"

"Maybe. But the archer didn't treat her like a leader."

"Who knows and who cares," said Sully with sudden finality. "If the vermin've got their claws on the Sword of Martin, I wonder what's happened to Fannin?"

Fentress said nothing.

"Well, I'm sure he's okay," said Sully.

"The rat ran deeper into the swamp," said Fentress. "I've got to find that sword."

Sully almost leapt up again, but remembered what had happened the last time and managed to still herself. "Aha! Now that's some nice can-do talk there, Fen! Some good ol' give 'em vinegar. When we get back Martin's Sword, we'll rout those vermin for sure."

Fentress almost laughed. "I expected you to reprimand me, or tell me it's unsafe or something. But I guess I should've known better."

"Unsafe? Who d'you think I am—Sister Selma? There hasn't been a hero of Redwall Abbey yet who hasn't had to prove themselves through some act of courage or several. And if our challenge's just to swipe the blade from the grubby claws of a few overgrown lizards, then I'd say that ain't so tough a deal." Sully pulled a heroic pose, all lines and angles in the bitter dusk, fading in the light.

"You can't go," said Fentress. "You're too hurt."

"Oh, don't even say that," said Sully. "Don't even try to pull that one. We gotta work together, Fen. There ain't been a hero of Redwall yet who hasn't had friends to help 'em out, and I'm your friend, Fen, so helpin' you out's what I'm gonna do."

Fentress managed a smile. "Thanks, Sully. But I'm not concerned about being the hero of Redwall. I just want Redwall safe—once I get the sword back, I'll give it to Alger, or Fannin, or somebeast who can make better use of it than I can. But to get it back, I need to move quick and quiet. With your paw you'll—"

"—Be in the way, slow you down, yeah yeah, I've heard it afore you've even said it. Look, Fen. I dunno who you think you are, but you ain't outrunnin' those lizards, not in their own territory. Were I in tiptop shape, I might be able to do it, but I ain't, so that point's moot. The point that does matter is we need a better plan if we're to rescue the sword, and whatever that plan is, I bet you'll need me to help. So there."

Sully folded her arms and harrumphed. Fentress chuckled—she was right. Fentress had thought she might be able to put her knowledge of the swamp from the last time she passed through it to good use and outwit the lizards somehow, but the more she churned it over, the more running seemed impossible. The swamp had changed since her last visit; the lizards were certainly new, but even the terrain of the marsh had seemed to shift, until it looked like something completely different from whatever of which she had once had a fleeting memory, a memory from a time when she was babe and toddling at the side of her father. She remembered because he had been so stern with her that day—she had been playing close to the edge of the swamp, some sort of make-believe, and he had swooped in and slapped her wrist several times and shouted in her face to never never never play near the swamp. 'Twas a bad place, he had told her. She had cried.

That was so long ago. Why had she ever thought she knew the swamp?

"Okay," said Fentress, stirring from her memories. "I have a better plan. And you're right, I'll need your help."

Sully grinned. "Told ya."

* * *

Captain Kludd fell for about the fifth time since he started running, bounded back up, severed a branch in front of him with one swipe of the magnificent sword, and kept running. There were at least thirty of the things behind him, probably more. He was done for.

But still he kept running. For a few fleeting moments he thought maybe he should throw himself headfirst into the swamp, or even onto the sword, and end it quick, or if not quick at least more quick than the lizards would end him. But still he kept running.

A log rose up out of nowhere and took his legs out from under him. Clutching the hilt of the sword he bounced down an embankment, twigs and stones jabbing into him, and he knew before he came to a stop that this time he had fallen too far to jump back up quickly, that the lizards had already surrounded him, that he had nowhere left to run.

He stood up. He had landed in a small, circular clearing, the dusky orange sky oozing through a ring of trees above him.

The lizards had surrounded him. Snarling, jaundice-eyed, lined with incandescent scales, a full horde of them, crawling over each other, all staring at him.

They did not strike. Kludd knew it was because of the sword—none of them wanted to be the first to run at a creature wielding such a blade. Kludd himself would have shirked from himself wielding the sword he know wielded, even though deep down he knew himself to be not a great fighter despite all the braggadocio to which he had subjected his subordinates upon his (relatively recent) promotion to captain. In fact, he had never been quite good at anything, and as a lot of frantic thoughts all clustered in his head as he wheeled back and forth on the placid reptilian creatures thronged about him the one he kept focusing on above all was: Why had Alagadda given him this position to begin with?

Soon, he knew, they would grow restless, and he would die.

A commotion occurred near the back of the lizard group. For a moment Kludd thought it was beginning, but soon the throng opened up and between the ranks emerged a massive reddish lizard, at least twice the size of any of his peers, flanked by a couple of elites who snapped at any lizard foolish enough to get in the way.

The red lizard entered the circle. Kludd stepped back, even though it pressed his unprotected flank closer to the other side of the circle.

The red lizard spoke.

"The zword… That izz a zword of a great zlayer. Yezz…"

Kludd had trouble discerning the lizard's accent but understood that he, like the others, was in awe of the magic sword of Redwall Abbey. Hopelessness ebbed away and all at once Kludd knew what he had to do, what he had been best at doing his entire life.

He bragged.

"Indeed, 'tis the sword of a great slayer," he said, straightening his back and puffing out his chest and striding around the inner rim of the circle. He projected his voice so that all the clot of lizards could hear. "And that great slayer, well, 'tis me. I take it ye've ne'er heard of the great—" He searched for a name a bit more intimidating than Kludd. "—The great Tuscarawas of the One Blade, have ye? Mebbe a few of you snivelin' scaly lot've chanced upon the name in whispers. No doubt you'll be the ones pushin' yerselves to the back of the group right now. The rest of ye, if ye've got enough sense, oughtta do the same!"

He lunged at the nearest lizard in the ring. Amazingly, it flinched.

Feeling emboldened, Kludd continued. "I've roasted lizards twice the size o'ye fer me mornin' snack, and used the bones as toothpicks. I've drunk wine from a lizard's hollowed-out skull. I've an entire trunk full've scaly lizard hides that I take out'n wear on occasion. Come on, the lot of ye, step on up and try yer might against me. I could always use more coats." He jabbed out the tip of the sword at the big red lizard with a dramatic flourish he had seen Jareck perform once.

The big red lizard, massaging a small wound on his shoulder, seemed uncertain whether he wanted to attack or not. It dawned on Kludd that these lizards must be monstrously stupid.

From behind the big red lizard, a much smaller female with a necklace of bones sauntered out of the group, stalking with long, jerky strides. Her tail flicked out and around the big red one.

"Tuzcarawazz the Zlayer, he zezz…" said the female. "Yet he runzz for hizz life from uzz. He izz nothing but a liar, a cheat!"

The way the female kept close to the big male, Kludd figured she must be his mate. "Go on then, as ye say, I'm a liar, a braggart. Should be no match for even a beady little runt like yoreself." He made a show of lowering the sword. "I'll even let you strike first!"

The female grinned a toothy, jagged smile. "He izz nothing but a fat, fat mouzey… Go, Marclaw." She prodded the big male. "Kill him, and let uzz feazt on his corpze… Kill him, and take hizz zword for your own!"

She nudged Marclaw forward, but he seemed reluctant. Kludd didn't like this female one bit; a rough intelligence flitted behind her narrow eyes. Still, he had slipped into his element.

"I ain't warnin' ye again, scalebrain. Tell yore mates to scram or I'll make the first move."

"Zlay him, Marclaw," said the female.

Marclaw made a tentative step forward into the circle. Kludd tried to maintain his bold façade but shirked back from the monstrosity of scales anyway, a massive sinuous thing twice his height or more, glittering red in the setting sun.

Kludd racked his brains for a plan. Marclaw was still moving with measured trepidation, but the power the female held over him was obvious and Kludd wasn't sure if further intimidation would work. He'd already gotten lucky enough to convince such cataclysmic terrors that he was their great bane—but of course that wasn't luck so much as the sword, the legendary magic sword of Redwall Abbey. Perhaps the magic was not in making the wielder immune to death by combat, as they had all assumed and all heard in the stories of foolish warlords past, but instead a kind of viral infection of fear that spread amongst all those who saw or heard of it, a plague of reason. Of course Kludd didn't quite understand all he was even thinking and much of it was senseless mental babbling brought on by his own fear of the basilisk stalking toward him, but on a primal level he at once understood his hypothesis to be true. A sword of fear and nothing else.

The big red lizard pounced. Kludd had hardly time to react, he had not focused on the duel so much as how he might weasel his way out of it—er, not weasel, rat—that he hardly had time to raise the sword. He turned his head away and closed his eyes in anticipation of the death bearing down on him.

Death did not come. For him, at least. When he had stood five seconds without finding his guts ripped from his stomach or his ribcage burst open by the ravenous claws of the lizard, he opened one eye. The big red lizard lay on the ground. Its head had come away from its body, as in not there anymore, as in a clean cut, not a single stray tendon still quivering between the stump at the base of the skull and the stump at the end of the neck.

Kludd didn't believe it at first. Then he believed something must have intervened to save him. Then he saw the blood on his sword.

The magic sword of Redwall Abbey. He forgot all his previous posturing on the subject and knew the stories had been true. A magic sword, the wielder immune to death. (But then how had Alagadda slain the old mouse? Well, Kludd wouldn't worry about that for the time being.) A magic sword, and Kludd held it in his paw, the metal drenched in a new kill by a new owner.

A permanent owner.

The lizards watched unblinking. Kludd scoured their blank expressions, holding the sword in all its bloody glory aloft for all to see, letting the blood drip down the hilt and down his upraised arm, his fur matting with the clotting substance. The female lizard with the bone necklace had disappeared from the pack, and despite the sudden rush of ambition swelling in Kludd's head he knew he would have to deal with her at the soonest opportunity, for she would not bend her knee willingly.

But the others would.


	7. 7

7

The east gate had been removed from its hinges and placed with diligent care in the meadow just beyond the Abbey walls. Conredd inspected the shape and frame with a straightedge, calculating the dimensions necessary to recreate the door without exposing any chinks in the Abbey's defenses.

He had two stoats beside him, each with a hatchet slung over his shoulder. Glancing up from the gate, Conredd clapped the straightedge in his paw. "I need twenty-four planks of wood this length by this length by this length. Fell me the timber an' I'll reward the both of ye with promotions t'be my personal assistants."

"An' wot if I don't wanna be yore assistant," said one of the stoats, named Clatsop.

Conredd nodded, as if this were a perfectly logical concern. Truthfully, he despised stoats; they were lazy and stupid and cheats, like Jareck. But since Conredd himself was the only fox in the entire horde, stoats were the largest and strongest creatures he had at his disposal, so he would have to make due.

"If a promotion don't tickle the fancy of two brainless oafs like yerselves, then lemme add this: personal rooms 'ere in th'Abbey for each of ye."

Clatsop and his companion were about to demur when from the forest's edge came a rustle of leaves and branches. Vellis emerged from the overgrowth, supporting with one arm a half-conscious Lady Alagadda.

They staggered their way up to the gate. Conredd and his assistants stood by idly.

"Well now," said Clatsop. "Looks like summat took a bite outta yew, Lady Alagadda."

"Stow it," Alagadda muttered.

Conredd folded his arms and sighed. "Where are Kludd and the others?"

"Where d'ye think?" said Alagadda.

"And Redwall's famed sword? Back in the paws of the woodlanders?"

"Nah," said Alagadda, spitting a globule of blood at the fox's footpaws. "Lost in the swamp forever. A fittin' end fer such a worthless lunk of metal. You were the one that sent Vellis after me, ain't ye."

"She went of her own accord," said Conredd. Addressing Vellis, he added: "Talk some sense into her. She won't hear a word I tell her, but mebbe she'll listen to you."

Vellis said nothing as she led Alagadda through the open portal into the Abbey.

* * *

The Abbey library was a cavernous room, with high vaulted ceilings through which buzzed an aura of potential energy. Towering shelves loomed from the floor into the shadows, packed with tomes of seasons past, of warriors and villains and courage and fear. Small rounded windows tucked between the shelves peered over the eastern grounds of the Abbey, with the pond shimmering in the dull gray evening.

Only a few loose vermin straggled in the library when Vellis and Alagadda entered, with a pair of mangy rats stoking a fire in the hearth with a few of the lower-hanging chronicles. Without a word, the vermin desisted their tasks and filed out the doors, leaving Vellis and Alagadda quite alone in the monolithic edifice of history.

Vellis set Alagadda down on a large old chair that had, unbeknownst to either of them, once belonged to the mouse warrior Fannin and was even now surrounded by his reading material, the tale of the Abbey's inception bookmarked at the place where he had hastily shut it when Kludd and his goons had stormed the library earlier that morning. Vellis swept the books aside with a wide fling of her arm, scattering the yellowed pages into the air.

Shuffling out of her hooded cloak, she unslung her bow and quiver and dropped them aside, before detaching from her belt the sheathed blade Alagadda had once bestowed upon her as a gift and placing it away from her as well. She cracked her knuckles and leaned forward to inspect Alagadda's wounds. Most of them were scratches and cuts, nothing worth even a bandage, but she had sustained on her shoulder what was unmistakably a serious bite, a semicircular ring of deep punctures extending from under her arm to the base of her collarbone. The blood had matted the fur as well as Alagadda's shirt into a dense, hard clot. Vellis licked her paw and wiped away the worst of the excess.

"'Ow's it feel," said Vellis.

"Like nothing," said Alagadda with a shrug. "I'll be fine."

Vellis pressed her forefinger to one of the punctures and Alagadda cried out in pain.

"'Twill need t'be dressed," said Vellis. "Mebbe put in a sling."

"It's fine."

Removing the belt of knives that criss-crossed across Alagadda's torso, Vellis peeled the fragments of torn cloth away from the blood, cracking the dark red knot into a plume of scabby flakes. Alagadda winced.

Vellis extracted a long, curved tooth that had been lodged in one of the punctures. "I ain't one like Conredd who'll try an' tell you how to run yore own horde," she said, examining the tooth. "I've seen you do too many smart things in the past to fault yore judgment now. But I will ask you what in Hellgates you thought you was doin' out there."

"Searchin' fer some Abbeybeasts that's escaped," said Alagadda.

"Yeah, but what were ye really doin'?"

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm bored," said Alagadda. "We took the Abbey and nothin' happened. I slew that mouse warrior an' it wasn't even difficult. What's the point of conquerin' Redwall if you don't enjoy it? What's the point of livin' if you don't enjoy it?"

Vellis retrieved a clean cloth and dabbed at the wounds. "Ye've taken Redwall Abbey, th'most feared and ill-whispered place in all this accursed country, with an army to fight fer you and a host o'slaves to serve you. Ye've got the smarts and skills to take complete control o'this realm and create a new empire. All in all, ye have ev'rythin' you need to do the things we used to talk about doin' back afore we was great horde leaders, back when we was nuttin' but lowly pawsoldiers who di'n't 'ave but two crooked arrers and a dull kitchen knife a'tween us. 'Member that?"

Alagadda said nothing, but of course she remembered. Back when their seasons were enough to count on two paws, and the family they had between them totaled zilch, when they were trod upon by everybeast with paws for trodding. Back then they had big dreams because they had nothing else, dreams fed on tales told by the older vermin who had scraped by season after season of famine and war and pillage—tales of fanciful Abbeys and magic swords and badger mountains. Tales of horror and death but also the slimmest shred of hope: hope that one day they might rise above their ancestors and do what nobeast had done before. Hope that had fed Vellis and Alagadda through nights with naught but a crust of molded bread to feed them both, nights of a frigid chill that seeped through their fur and struck them to the bone, nights spent in the crevices of some bog, cowering beneath a fallen tree log as their comrades were slain around them by other vermin, or hares, or whatever. Dark nights, empty nights, lonely nights—but there was still that hope. They said all the old warlords had started as nothing but pawsoldiers too; before they had big names with fancy epithets, they were just rats and stoats and weasels same as any other.

And so while other vermin just tried to eke out an existence, Vellis and Alagadda (back then her name had not been Alagadda) had put time in learning how to use weapons, working with the ratty old tools they had at their disposal. Alagadda learned how to throw by chucking her kitchen knife at a tree trunk time and time and time again, and Vellis had practiced firing the same two arrows into a field from a bow she had filched from a corpse and then scouring the entire field to find where they had fallen so she could fire them again. Back then there had been no boredom, although the things they did were the epitome of boring; back then each repetitive throwing of the knife or firing of the bow had seemed something important, almost magical, and they had wasted entire days doing those things without a word of complaint.

For Alagadda to say she was bored now, now that they had finally after so long achieved everything of which they had ever dreamed, everything of which every vermin since the dawn of time had ever dreamed—it was the closest thing to a betrayal Vellis could ever expect coming from Alagadda.

"'Twere I any other beast hearin' you babble like this," said Vellis, "With you prone an' defenseless here. Well, I shan't need t'tell you what might happen."

"An' 'twere I any other warlord hearin' my captain talk like that," said Alagadda, "Let alone havin' already suffered you crackin' me over the skull and haulin' me halfway across Mossflower Wood, I'd have done the same t'you as yer sayin' you'd have done to me."

Vellis closed her eyes and exhaled. "Let's not speak like this," she said. "There's too many stories of vermin warlords who went sour 'cuz o'things like this."

"There's too many stories of vermin warlords who went sour in general," said Alagadda, with a glance at the reams of books that lined the shelves around her.

"Then don't become one o'them," said Vellis. "If yer bored, make that yore challenge—don't become like ev'ry other leader our kind's ever had an' wind up dead from yore own weakness. Make 'em write a story about how you lived out yore seasons prosperous and powerful, and died at an old age, an' not from some metal gettin' rammed in yore gut or some woodlander revolt tearin' you t'pieces. That's a story I'd like t'hear."

"Aye," said Alagadda, "An' who's gonna write it?"

"There's more'n one way to tell a story than to scribble it in some dusty book," said Vellis. "Just ask Jareck. But we can worry about that later. Fer now, promise you ain't gonna do anymore o'this foolhardy stuff, especially now that there ain't no more reason t'do it."

Vellis extended a paw toward Alagadda and let it hang in the still air of the library. Alagadda regarded the paw like an incomprehensible shape before reaching out and taking it.

"I promise, mate."

* * *

Clatsop and his companion Tilly, the two stoats Conredd had enlisted to help build a new eastern wallgate for the Abbey, schlepped a bushel of hacked-up wood out of the forest and into the field around the Abbey wall. Despite the twilight, Conredd remained standing in the open portal, measuring and inspecting, tweaking the hinges and studying their motions.

They plunked the wood down in front of him. "This good enough?"

Conredd took a cursory glance at the pile. "I'll need about twice that."

The two stoats groaned in unison.

"But the big feast's startin' now!"

"Why dontcha get some o'those woodlanders we captured to do this fer you?"

"Because," said Conredd, tapping his straightedge against the vast red walls of the Abbey, "If I have t'get woodlanders to do the work that means I need creatures to supervise them, or else they'll escape, so I'll just have to use you idjits anyway. Plus, if I get woodlanders to do it, they won't do it right at all. Trust me, I've used slave labor afore. Worthless, absolutely worthless. Sickly, broken creatures, slaves is. An' afore they're broken they're even worse, 'cuz they think they can stand up t'you e'en though they're in chains and you got the whip. A whole lotta wasted energy and a whole lotta wasted time, an' I don't have either. These gates need to repaired, an' quick. Now quit yore complainin' and fetch me more wood."

The two stoats exchanged a look before sauntering up to Conredd, their arms folded and chests puffed out.

"Oh yeah? And how're you gonna make us do it?"

"I think yer the one who oughtta be out there cuttin' wood, not us!"

Although the stoats were each a head taller than him, Conredd betrayed not the slightest inkling of lack of composure. "I wonder what Lady Alagadda'll say when she hears the both of ye were disrespectin' the orders of a direct superior."

The bigger stoat, Clatsop, jabbed Conredd in the chest with an outstretched finger. "By the look of Alagadda when she came in, she's got bigger problems t'worry about than what the lot of us are doin'. Now get outta our way afore we make you get outta our way."

In a flash Conredd had his rapier drawn and pointed just under Clatsop's chin, needling his throat. Clatsop's paws flew up in a gesture of supplication as his companion Tilly stepped back, unsure of what to do.

"I ain't usually one t'slay hordebeasts under my command fer silly things," said Conredd, "But in the face of open insubordination I may make an exception. If y'think Lady Alagadda appoints any of 'er cap'ns fer their dashin' good looks alone, yer sorely mistaken. Now fetch me more wood."

Keeping the rapier point level despite Clatsop's trembling and undulating throat, Conredd dismissed the two stoats with a flippant wave. They took a tremulous step backward in unison, one of them almost tripping on a plank of wood.

Something in the woods behind them snapped.

Already tense, the stoats wheeled on the noise, peering into the blank darkness and the uncertain forms contained wherein. Conredd regarded the noise with far less curiosity.

"But cap'n," said Clatsop, apparently humbled by the rapier still aimed in his direction, "There's somethin' out there, didn't y'hear it?"

"Oh yes, I heard it alright. A woodpidgeon settlin' down to nest fer the night. Don't tell me the you were both just swaggerin' around actin' tough and mighty an' now yer both scared of a twig."

Something in the woods rustled.

Clatsop's voice fell to a whisper. "What if it's them Abbeybeasts come back? What if they brought an army?"

"Lookit these excuses yer tryin' to pull, just to avoid the slightest ounce a work. What army've they got t'bring?"

They came from the sides. In an instant, Tilly was on the ground with his whole side split open and something large and heavy on top of him. Clatsop turned to run only for something to barrel into his back and take him down before he had taken a single step. A third shape emerged from the darkness and lunged at Conredd. Conredd sidestepped and lanced the back of the thing's neck with his rapier, sending it skidding across the grass in a shrieking heap. He whipped the rapier through the air and readied it for another attacker but the two that had attacked the stoats were still attacking the stoats, tearing into them although their limp lifeless corpses made no sound or movement. Conredd ducked through the open portal of the Abbey, wiping the bloodied rapier on his sleeve, keeping an eye over his shoulder as he retreated, moving with quick steps but not a sprint, nothing to mark him as a target to whatever had attacked.

He headed toward the Abbey building, intending to sound the alarm in the mess hall where most of the horde would be, midway through the grand feast they had cobbled together from the delicacies and liquors left behind by the Redwallers. He made the orchard before the furtive, slick shapes began to stream through the east gate, clawing and snarling their way over each other to fit through the narrow orifice. His vision was good enough in the dark to make out the shapes as some sort of reptile, lizards perhaps, or something else. They were fast and large.

Casting his cloak over his red-furred face, he sunk low amongst the groves of the orchard, hoping to camouflage himself. Claws puttered over the loamy soil around him, no other noise than the low hiss of reptilian voices. Too low to alert a horde of revelers, likely steeped in drink and song and good cheer. Conredd peeked from beneath the cloak to count the creatures that passed. He estimated fourscore, maybe five.

If Alagadda had simply allocated the resources earlier to have the gates repaired in proper time and fashion, of course, this would not be an issue. With even ten well-bodied creatures operating under fear of Alagadda's retribution and Conredd's meticulous design, all four gates could have been replaced by eventime. Doors were not complicated mechanisms. All he needed was the wood, but no. Alagadda as usual had not given thought to such bureaucratic matters, and thus Conredd had had to acquire his own help, and of course they had not wanted to help him, because he did not command the respect that she commanded despite all her many many many flaws, and ooh it made Conredd furious to think about just how easily this whole debacle could have been sidestepped completely.

When he caught up with her, he would give her one big I-told-you-so.

The lizards streamed into the Abbey.


	8. 8

8

Laramie crawled to the circle where Abbott Walden and the other primary architects of the escape plan waited. "For the most part, they're at the very least impaired," she said.

"The vermin?" asked Abbott Walden.

"Yes." Laramie lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder at the round table, stacked high with trinkets and cards and bottles. Boisterous chatter drifted from its direction. "Of the seven of 'em, two are passed out, one looks soon to be, and three are slurring their speech an' teetering in their seats."

"And the seventh?" asked Walden.

"The seventh is their captain, the stoat. His name's Jareck." Laramie pointed Jareck out as inconspicuously as possible. The majority of the trinkets were piled in front of him, and he led the conversation with a steady stream of loquaciousness to which his playing companions nodded with occasional interjections. "I've been watching him the most. He's had a drink in front of him the entire night but he's never taken a sip that I've seen. He's claimed multiple times to his mates that he doesn't carry a weapon but all that means is he definitely carries a weapon. He's their leader for a reason, at the very least."

Gilmer the Cellarkeeper kneaded a long, knotted rope in his paws, which he had tied together to make a fine flail. "Then we take 'im out first. Leave it to me."

"Once Jareck's down, the others shouldn't be an issue," said Laramie. But then she hesitated. "I think."

"Burr, oi doin't reckon thurr's any way t'figgur that'un oot but to troi it furr urrselves," said Foremole Griggs.

"Yes," said Laramie. "We won't have a better time to strike than right now, while the rest of the vermin are at their feast and our guards are still incapacitated. It's now or never. How many of us did we manage to untie?"

"Not as many as I'd've liked," said Gilmer. "Took much longer'n we expected to cut through the first rope, an' after that it took much longer'n expected to untie the others, they're knotted tight. I'd say we managed to get about half of our number free. The rest we'll have to worry about later."

Abbott Walden gave a sage nod of his head. "You've all done well, I'm quite proud of you. Here's how we shall proceed: With our makeshift weapons we will dispatch the guards as best as we can. We cannot allow a single one of the guards to escape and raise alarm. Fortunately, our newfound benefactors in their endless magnanimity have given use ample rope to assist in this task. Once the guards have been tied up, we have to get everybeast from this room to the south wallgate undetected. Under normal circumstances this task would not be difficult at all, simply up the stairs out of the cellar, down along the Abbey wall for a bit, and there we are."

"But with a good threescore of us, young and old included, it'll be much harder," said Laramie.

"Indeed," said Walden, pushing up his spectacles. "As such, we'll move like this: Laramie, you'll take the lead with Roane and ensure the coast is clear before we start filing out of the cellar. It should be fine—I've never heard of a vermin willing to pass up free food and drink—but if there are any complications at all we need to know before we're exposed alongside the south wall. So you and Roane—where is Roane, anyway?"

"He's still spying on the guards," said Laramie. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he knows the plan."

Gilmer leaned forward, pulling his knotted rope taut. "The vermin're probably snoozin' away by now, what with the amount of my ale they hauled away for their feast. Why don't we just sneak out and rout the lot've 'em right now?"

"Too dangerous," said Walden. "Much too dangerous. They outnumber us. Not to mention, none of us here can handle their leader, Alagadda. Not even Fannin—"

They fell silent for a moment.

"—Well," said Walden. "Well, that's that. We escape out the south. We regroup with Alger and the others. We muster all the help we can from the surrounding woodland and we retake Redwall. Are all agreed?"

All agreed.

"Good. Then let's get this plan into action."

* * *

Jareck leaned a little lazily in his chair, tilting his head over the mounting pile of loot at one of the few remaining of his cadre still of sound enough mind to see their cards straight. "Eh, Letcher? What'll it be, another round?"

The rat Letcher concentrated on his cards, his eyes blazing with a kind of intensity Jareck had seen often enough before to mark as the telltale sign of the sucker. "Gimme a minute, I'm thinkin'," he grunted.

Jareck turned to another creature still with cards. "And whaddabout you, Switz?"

Switz gaped at Jareck from behind his cards. "I ain't got nuttin' left to bet," he said.

"Ah, that's no fun," said Jareck, slapping Switz on the shoulder. "Tell ya what. Since you're such a swell fellow, Switz, I propose this as your bet for the next round. I win, an' you gotta tell me what kind of creature you are exactly."

Switz was nonplussed. "What kinda… creature?"

"Yeah, 'tis been drivin' me mad ever since I saw ya. Can't pin you down. Too big fer a weasel, too small fer a stoat, ferret don't sit right, and you shore ain't no fox or rat I ever seen. So what is, what are ya?"

Switz stared back, dumbfounded.

"You won't… you won't get anything outta that one," said a female ferret named Iredell, who had had quite enough to drink. "He so dumb, he don't even… he don't even know what he is!"

"Pine marten," said Letcher, with a growl.

"He ain't no pine marten," said Jareck.

"I say he's a pine marten."

"Tell me, you ever happen to see an actual pine marten?"

"Indeed I have, he's sittin' right across the table from me with that big dopey expression on 'is face."

"I seen a pine marten afore," said Jareck. "In fact, several. An' they look nuttin' like that'un."

"Then mebbe you oughtta get yore eyes checked out, 'cuz you'd 'ave to be blind t'not see he's a pine marten." Letcher's paws hooked around his cards, adding a few extra crumples that Jareck immediately put to memory. "In fact, you'd 'ave t'be blind t'not see that ye've been robbin' us blind all day long, an' that you ain't got no intention to stop!"

"Robbin' you blind," said Jareck, as if mulling over the words carefully. "Whaddya mean by that?"

"Whaddya mean by that, he says, as if he ain't got a clue. Lookit this pile of loot—our loot—he's got stacked in front of 'em. You think 'tis luck that got you all that?"

"'Tis not luck, 'tis skill," said Jareck.

Letcher lurched up abruptly, hurling his cards across the table and into Jareck's face. The rat's gait had a drunken stagger to it. "I tell ye, yer a no-good dirty rotten fleabitten mangy cheat, that's what you are, an' I'll only ask you to hand back my things once afore I draw my weapon."

"Now now, Letcher," said Jareck. "You don't wanna do that. That'd be a mistake."

Switz the who-knew-what, who besides Jareck was the most sober of them all on account of either some tremendous aspect of his constitution or else simply the lack of any brain to inebriate in the first place, stared at the proceedings wide-eyed. His head bobbled up and down ceaselessly. "He's right, Letcher, you don't wanna do that."

"Stow it, Switz. This stoat's too old t'take me on even if he wanted to, and that's not even takin' into account the fact that he's unarmed, as he's told us so many times. We'll see 'ow he keeps that smirk on 'is face when I got his guts strewn around his neck!" He drew his blade, a bent shortsword.

Jareck only smiled. "An' what'll Lady Alagadda think, you havin' killed one of 'er cap'ns?"

At the mention of Alagadda, Letcher seemed to recoil some, but he blinked several times and regained his aggressive composure. "If a cap'n's gettin' hisself slain by a lesser hordebeast, then I say that hordebeast oughtta be rewarded for weedin' out a weakling. Alagadda'll promote me, that's what she'll do."

Jareck tsk-tsked. "You rats are all the same. Ambitious braggarts."

"Why I oughtta—" said Letcher, not bothering to explain what he oughtta at all.

Jareck became aware that somebeast had risen behind him seconds before he heard the whoosh of something heavy being slung through air. His reflexes kicked in and he hit the floor, the knotted rope whipping harmlessly over his head.

Six or seven Redwallers leapt up out of the seething mass of eyes in the darkness, each wielding a flail constructed of knotted rope. The drunken, half-asleep vermin were taken immediately. A rope smacked Switz in the face and he hurtled backwards out of his chair, while the ferret Iredell took a whack to the back that knocked her across the table. The other vermin, even less conscious, hardly had to be restrained at all as they only managed to raise their swollen heads before being accosted.

The attack had come with so much commotion and noise that it took a moment for Jareck, strategically crouched underneath the table, to hear Letcher shouting for everybeast to get back. Only when the Redwallers began to quiet did he discern why: Letcher had seized a young squirrel and now held his blade to his throat.

"Back off, all o'ye, or watch me spill this'un's blood all cross the floor!"

"Roane," shouted Laramie, who had been one of the initial attack party.

Roane dared not struggle even an inch against the sharp of the sword. "It's okay," he said, his eyes frantic. "It's okay."

"I said back off!" shouted Letcher. "Back off, an' let my mates go."

Some of the Redwallers had already begun to bind the paws of the poleaxed vermin with what had once been their very own ties. At the threat from Letcher, they stepped away, tossing the ropes and holding their paws over their heads.

"Good, good," said Letcher, with a sneer plastered all over his face. "We'll 'ave to tie you up tighter next time. Or better yet, slaughter the lot a ye." He looked around the dim cellar room, at the eyes staring at him unblinking and full of fear. Jareck, beneath the table, had fallen out of sight, and also out of mind—Letcher was in charge.

To feel out his newfound power, with his free paw he snapped at another rat sitting at the table, who had roused himself to some state of consciousness in the fracas. "Beadle, get Lady Alagadda. Tell her Letcher's managed to keep a slave revolt at bay and fer her to send reinforcements immediately."

Beadle blinked.

"I said go!" hissed Letcher.

Muttering apologies, Beadle staggered upright, swaying to and fro as he meandered amongst the stunned woodlanders toward the cellar door atop the stairs. He tripped many times.

"Now," said Letcher, "The rest of ye sit tight or—"

A hideous scream emerged from the top of the stairs, shattering the silence that had engulfed the cellar. Letcher, Jareck, and everybeast else in the room turned just in time to watch Beadle fly out the door. One moment Beadle was there, screaming, the next he was gone, and silent.

"'Ey," said Switz, looking up groggily and massaging a lump on his head, "Where'd Beadle go?"

Letcher craned his neck around the squirrel he was threatening to kill. "Beadle? You okay there, mate?"

A reptile coiled its way through the open doorway, appearing limb-by-limb at the top of the stairs, its claws clicking against the stone as it tilted its head to the side and swept a yellow eye across the creatures gathered below it.

Nobeast said a word as the lizard started its slow, careful descent down the steps into the cellar. The few vermin who had weapons left to draw drew them, their paws trembling. The lizard reached the bottom few steps and a concavity appeared in the group of creatures before it, each pressing against the one at his or her back to move away from the snarling beast.

Its gaze centered on a feeble mousewife at the front of the mass. A tongue flickered between its curved fangs as it readied its claws to strike.

Laramie leapt past one of the vermin, seized his sword, dove through the crowd, and threw herself upon the lizard. Screaming the warcry of Redwall Abbey, she tackled the lizard and struck it with the weapon, whipping again and again across its scaly torso. The lizard lashed out and raked a claw across Laramie's face, but with unbridled ferocity she continued to stab and slash and stab and slash and slash and stab at the writhing thing beneath her, until finally with a final spasm it lay still, a puddle of blood forming around it on the cold stone floor.

She climbed off the thing, wiping the blood from her fur.

"Somebeast close that door," she said, pointing up the stairs.

Nobeast moved.

Jareck reached out from under the table and gave Switz a nudge. "Close the door, mate, 'tis a bit drafty in here."

Either Switz believed the excuse or he simply refused to disobey an order from his superior. He pushed his way through the glut of creatures in the cellar and trudged up the stairs. All the eyes in the room galvanized to him as he reached the door and peeked out, all expecting him to disappear exactly as Beadle had done. But he simply reached for the door and pulled it shut without any commotion.

He came back down the stairs. "More of 'em lizzerds out there, I'd say." Nonchalant, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

"'Ow many more," said Letcher, breathless despite not having moved in some time, and still clutching Roane with a blade to the Bellringer's throat.

Switz shrugged. "Countin' has ne'er been my fore-tay, so to speak."

"Quit the glib," said Letcher. "More've 'em than you got fingers on yore paws?"

Switz pondered it. "Oh yes," he said at last, "Lots more'n that."

"An' what're they doin'," said Letcher.

"Eatin'," said Switz.

"Blast it Switz, now yer just bein' coy, what're they eatin'?"

"Deadbeasts," said Switz, "Lots've 'em."

An audible gasp rippled through the creatures in the cellar. A few creatures tried to surge for the exit, although the exit would only plunge them into whatever gorging Switz had witnessed, and a panic might have arisen had not Abbott Walden leapt in front of the stairs, holding up his paws for peace.

"Please, we must not descend into anarchy," he said. "If we allow fear to seize hold of us, many will be trampled and crushed in this small space. We're safe down here for the time being, there is no cause for alarm!"

Gilmer the Cellarkeeper appeared beside him. At the hedgehog's calm, commanding presence, many of the frightened woodlanders calmed, or at least ceased their nascent riot to escape. "We've better things t'do than start screamin', anyway. Let's roll up a few o'those spare kegs to stack in front of the door, so more of those things don't come wanderin' in. Then we can puzzle out a plan."

Abbott Walden nodded sagely and began to instruct a few well-bodied creatures to assist Gilmer in barricading the door when Letcher staggered forward, still holding Roane in front of him. The poor squirrel looked nearly ready to faint.

"Now wait just a minute," said Letcher. "Don't you all start jumpin' around gettin' things done as if I ain't still the one in charge around here. Lest ye want to see this'un's blood paintin' the floor, ye best sit down and shut up and let me do the talkin'!"

"Yer in no position t'be givin' orders, rat," said Gilmer. "Yer in this mess as much as we are, now."

"I said sit down!" Letcher hissed.

"Maybe we oughtta all sit down," Roane managed to whimper.

With an exasperated sigh, Gilmer signaled to the other woodlanders to sit. They hesitated, but after a few moments most of them managed to do so, many having been trembling so much that standing had been difficult anyway. More than a small number of them kept sending furtive glances at the door at the top of the stairs—closed for now.

"And you, missie, drop the blade."

Laramie had remained kneeling by the corpse of the lizard, inspecting it. She cast an askance glare at Letcher.

Jareck emerged from under the table. "Look, Letcher, if Switz ain't lyin'—"

Letcher wheeled on Jareck. "I'm the one in charge here, not you! You ain't got a blade an' you ain't got Lady Alagadda to say yer the captain, so I'm gonna go ahead an' appoint myself captain in the meantime. So yer gonna listen to me."

"Or do what," said Jareck. "Stab me? An' let go of yore hostage so the woodlanders can take you?"

A deep, frustrated breath escape between Letcher's gritted teeth. He motioned at Iredell the ferret, who stood near Jareck, rubbing her back. "Iredell, you got a weapon, don't ye? Be a dear an' use it, will ya?"

Iredell looked at a loss for words and was about to stammer something when Laramie leapt up and pressed the tip of her blade to Letcher's throat before he had a time to react. "Drop my good friend Brother Roane, please."

"Get back or I'll kill him," said Letcher.

"Let go or I kill you," said Laramie.

"And then the lizard army burst through the doors and devoured us all," said Jareck. "The end."

They stood locked in a standstill for far longer than they should have. Finally, after ten endless seconds, Letcher tossed his sword aside and hurled Roane away from him.

"Good," said Laramie.

Letcher spat in her face. She smashed him over the skull with the hilt of the sword and he dropped like a lump.

Wiping the spittle from her fur, she said, "Get that door barricaded." Gilmer and the others wasted no time heading for the few remaining kegs to pile in front of the door.

"Now, I'll let you block the door," said Jareck, sitting on the table now, with the other four vermin gathered around him. "An' I'll let you hatch whatever plan you think can get you outta this situation. I ain't like Letcher on the ground there, I'm a reasonable creature, an' as far as my interests right about now go, self-preservation's right at the top o'the list. So lemme propose a deal—"

"No," said Laramie.

"Now, hear me out—"

"No," said Laramie. "I've no interest in any deal put forward by any vermin, especially one who up until we turned the tables had been content to lord over us as slaves."

"Oh come now, I was doin' no lordin', 'tis an exaggeration—"

"And even if I wasn't disinclined toward any so-called 'deal' of yours out of principle, I just watched you swindle your companions out of every possession they own by cheating at cards. So allow me to reiterate: No."

Jareck shook his head and held out his paws to the vermin grouped around them as if to ask, Do you believe this? From the looks they gave him back, they did believe it.

Gilmer and the team he had organized took little time to stack a few good barrels in front of the door. The hedgehog clapped dust from his paws and regarded Walden and Laramie. "Now what? What's the plan?"

Walden adjusted his spectacles and gave a polite cough. "We wait. We're safe for the time being, and until that changes I see no reason to endanger ourselves."

"Ah," said Jareck. In the earlier fracas he had lost his ruddy coin, but now it had reappeared between the fangs of his teeth as if it had never gone missing. "You'll make cannibals of us all in two days time, I'll reckon."

Laramie wheeled on him. "An' what's that supposed to mean?"

"Lots t'drink," said Jareck. "Not so much as a scrap to eat. How long're we gonna wait down here?"

Laramie looked to Abbott Walden, who looked back to her. Neither said a word; nobeast said a word. On the other side of the cellar door, something long and ragged began to scrape against the half-rotten wood.


	9. 9

9

The swamp at night was more perilous than Fentress had expected. Even as they crept along the branches of the trees with the mire rippling beneath them, she had the impression that something essential to the geography of the place had altered since their last visit not two hours prior.

"How're you holding up, Sully?" she asked, to deter the creeping thought that they might be lost.

"Better'n you, even with my paw all banged up," came a whisper from somewhere behind her, far more distant than the oblique collection of shapes that made up Fentress's friend.

Fentress's plan had gone better in her head. When she first came up with it, she envisioned the two of them slithering silently through the trees, able to survey the situation undetected, scout the location of Martin's Sword, and then through some circus-act acrobatics nick it from whatever scaly claws it had fallen into while the owner of said claws snored comically, dreaming of whatever it is lizards dream about. And should for any reason the lizards actually discover them, they would be too high up to be reached—as Fentress remembered from their encounter earlier in the day, even the largest lizard of them all had failed when it tried to leap after them as they climbed onto the branches.

Perfect, right? Well, no. Because trees were loud when somebeast was crawling through them. Leaves rustled no matter how hard Fentress tried not to rustle them, which Fentress at first thought was a defect in the trees themselves until she realized that Sully even with her bad paw was able to make far less noise, which meant that the time-worn nursery rhyme was true:

An otter shouldn't ever bother to leave the water,

Unless called to supper by her angry father.

Trees were hard. Fentress kept slipping, losing her grip, nearly tumbling out. Their progress had been remarkably slow and Sully often gave a hushed whisper to hurry up.

And yet even more remarkable was the fact that they had not seen a single lizard since their return to the swamp. Fentress considered the possibility of diurnal behavior coupled with natural camouflage in the mostly dead-green swampland merely concealing them from view, but still. The silence was uncanny, as if the reason the ground below was dark whenever Fentress mustered the nerve to look down was not because of the night streaming through the canopy but instead because the ground had simply fallen away completely, leaving an endless abyss in its place that had swallowed up every creature in Mossflower simultaneously save for them because of their incredible foresight to become treebeasts at just the right time.

And then out of the dark something spoke.

"What's this strange fruit growing from the leaves?"

The voice was shrill enough for it to take a second for Fentress to realize it was not the voice of a lizard. She searched for the speaker, but saw nothing.

Fentress and Sully looked at each other in silent consultation about whether to address the creature or not.

"I do see you, of course. I see many things that my eyes do not."

Out of the dark below appeared two silvery eyes, reflecting the scant moonlight. They were not attached to anything, as far as Fentress could tell—two eyes staring out of the dark.

It was obvious that remaining silence would not cause the creature to leave. "Please," said Fentress, "Keep your voice down. This swamp is dangerous—lizards may hear you."

"There are no lizards here, girl," said the eyes. "There have not been lizards in this wood for some time."

"Maybe not, but there are now. You're in grave danger if you don't keep quiet."

"The three of us," said the eyes, "Are the only living creatures of note in this entire marsh."

Sully pushed her way next to Fentress on the branch and poked her head through the leaves to confront the creature below. "You dense lunk, we saw a whole clan o'lizards in this very swamp just before sundown, an' they were awfully hungry. An' who are ye anyway, blabberin' on all cryptic and mystic-like without the decency to show yore face?"

"Come down, girls," said the eyes. "And I will show you my face, and much more."

"We'll stay up here, thank you very much," said Fentress.

"What a disappointment. And you'll never learn about the Warrior's Sword you seek, and where it has gone, and who now wields it."

Fentress and Sully exchanged a glance.

"The Sword of Martin?" said Fentress. "How do you know about that?"

"I told you, I see many things my eyes do not. Come down, and share a cup of tea with me. I have much to tell you."

The silver eyes stared unblinking.

"I don't like this, Fen," said Sully.

"Also," said the eyes, "I can heal the squirrel's paw."

Fentress wondered if she had mentioned Sully's paw aloud anytime recently, and then she wondered if a beast observant enough could have simply inferred the injury from the sounds Sully made climbing through the trees. Of course, how would the voice have known that one of them was a squirrel, unless the voice could see more of them than they could see of it?

"Whoever this is," she said to Sully, "They know something of Martin's Sword. We ought to talk to them."

"An' what if they're tryin' to trap us?"

"It's no lizard, that's obvious enough." Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added: "I suspect it's a hermit, somebeast who has lived here a long time and saw where that rat ran off to with the sword. Whoever it is, they may try to trick us, but they have information we need to know. Keep your guard up."

Sully gave a nod.

Fentress turned to the silver eyes beneath. "Well then, good creature, we'll come down and have a nice chat. But first, would you mind telling us your name?"

"My name is Sosostris. I am a seer by trade."

Sosostris, a seer by trade. Fentress parsed her memory for any recollection of the name before, perhaps uttered by her father or her father's friends during their late-night conversations of war and strife and the state of Mossflower to which she was forbidden to listen and to which she listened anyway. A wise old hermit in the swamp, Sosostris… But nothing came of it, the name was unfamiliar, which meant little as it had been some seasons since those discussions had taken place.

Fentress and Sully climbed out of the tree. As Fentress hit the ground she realized that the branch to which they'd clung had been low, low enough for the glittering eyes to reach up and pull them down itself had it so desired. The knowledge gave her somewhat more confidence in her plan to speak with Sosostris, but unsettled her to think of what might have happened had the lizards discovered them.

The land was firm enough.

Up close, Sosostris remained an enigma. All Fentress could tell was that it was not a reptile, for it was wrapped in a ragged hooded cloak from which only the eyes and an indeterminate snout were visible, a snout that could have belonged to anybeast. As Fentress squinted to try and make out more features, a match suddenly lit and cast the area in a dull orange glow. Sosostris held the match to a lamp and set it atop a wooden surface of some sort behind her—a cart, rotten and overgrown with vines. Sosostris herself was a vixen.

"What kind of creature sits around in the dark by themselves when they got a perfectly good lantern right here and the means t'light it," said Sully.

Sosostris was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the cart, beside a stack of old books the pages of through which she flitted her paw absentmindedly. "I find it peaceful to meditate in the dark. With my external senses of no use to me, I can focus more on my internal ones." Her silver eyes sparkled. She was not an old creature; in fact, despite the rags, she was actually quite young, hardly older than Fentress or Sully. And despite being a fox and living in a swamp, she seemed clean enough. Of course, the time-worn adage "Never trust a vixen" echoed through Fentress's ears, but Fentress had never expected to trusted this creature anyway, vixen or not.

"Would you like some herbal tea," asked Sosostris. "I can fix you some."

"We're fine," said Fentress. "Let's get to the point. I don't want to hear a lot of smoke and mirrors. Where is the Sword of Martin?"

From the back of the cart Sosostris picked something up—it was a cup of tea, still steaming, although Fentress saw no way the seer could have prepared it. She took a sip before saying, "The warrior's sword is where it belongs: the sandstone abbey. Of course."

Sully stood up with a sigh, with only a slight wince afterward. "Listen t'this rot. A load of nonsense, what more would ya expect from a vixen seer? We know the sword ain't at Redwall, we saw it go into this swamp with our own eyes." She grabbed Fentress by the shoulder. "Com'n, Fen. Let's get outta here afore the lizards hear us."

"I told you, the lizards left in the afternoon," said Sosostris, taking another sip of tea.

"You didn't tell us that at all," said Fentress. "You said there had been no lizards here for some time. Which was a lie."

"'Twas nothing of the sort; I speak only sooth. Time means different things to different beasts. For some, seasons may pass in the blink of an eye. For others, many eons may pass in the frame of a second. I myself am a creature for whom time stands endless, immortal, expansive. To me, it has been some time even since we have started speaking."

"Mumbo jumbo," said Sully. "Some time can mean anything, sure, but it ain't a matter of time, 'tis a matter of some. A second is some time. A season is some time."

Sosostris took another sip. "You strike me as the type of creature who will one day look up and wonder how she got so old so fast and lament youthful days neither remembered nor much cherished 'til 'twas too late. Diverting this digression to the stream of our conversation, I will for your benefit assure you that whatever the meaning of some time, the lizards are here no longer."

It seemed true. They had not heard even a scuffle in the moss since they returned to the swamp, and Fentress doubted any creature, even an odd one like Sosostris, would so nonchalantly drink tea in the dark unless she were absolutely certain no harm would befall her.

Which meant she might also be right about Martin's Sword being back at Redwall. Which meant—

"The lizards aren't here because they went to Redwall, and they took the sword with them."

"Clever girl," said Sosostris. "But for a technicality, 'twould be correct. The sword is not in the possession of lizard, but rather a rat—the same rat you saw wielding it earlier today. That is a matter, I take it, of little consequence to you."

"Come on Fen, this is stupid." Sully had remained standing, tugging at Fentress's habit to get her to rise as well. "Even if we trust she's telling the truth, an' that's an if if I ever heard one, this so-called seer hasn't told us a single thing she couldn't've seen with her real eyes."

Fentress rose. "Thank you for the information, ma'am. You've done us a sight of kindness more than your kind usually would; I hope your intentions were to match."

"If we had anything for her to swipe, I'm sure she would've by now. Wonder she ain't filched the robes off our backs."

They had taken a few steps away from the cart when Sosostris said, "Fentress. Tell me about your dream."

Fentress froze. In all the commotion throughout the day she had forgotten all about her dream from Martin the Warrior, where his mouth had moved and no sound came out. Despite Sully's continued tugging on her arm, she turned around.

"How did you know about that?"

"She sees many things, yadda yadda," said Sully. "Or else a lucky guess. Come on."

"Take a seat," said Sosostris. "And tell me about your dream. Interpretations are a specialty of mine."

"Um—" Fentress considered what to say.

"Tell me about how the dream troubled you."

It was stupid to trust this creature, Fentress knew. Nothing about the vixen seemed trustworthy, not her odd demeanor, not her shifty approach. Besides, Fentress wasn't type to fall for a self-proclaimed seer's prognostics in the first place. Maybe she had let her guard down ever since the dream, or maybe the fact that it was late and she was tired had something to do with it, but she returned to the foot of the rotten cart where Sosostris sat with her tea and her tomes and her crossed legs and her glowing silver eyes.

Sully, exasperated, stood beside her as she explained the dream to Sosostris. "It's obvious what it means," said Sully when the tale had been told. "It's a riddle, same as always, same as in all the stories."

"Ah, yes. I know of the stories of the famed Redwall Abbey," said Sosostris. "Lore both ancient and folk is a specialty of mine."

"Then you've got nothin' else to add," said Sully.

Sosostris held a paw out in front of the pale glow of the lamplight. In it was held a small clump of dried leaves, which immediately crumbled into flecks and drifted to the ground.

"This is a changed land," she said. "Things are not as they always were. Waves drift from the south, vicissitudes of decay. A rot pervades amongst all things here. It seeps through the trees, the roots, the ground, the stone—even the stone of your beloved Abbey. Things have started to lean. Silence is but the start."

"What a load o'rot," said Sully, shifting her eyes over her shoulder at the dark expanse of the swamp.

"I'm not here to listen to riddles," said Fentress, "I'm here to have them solved. Do you know what my dream means or not?"

There was a pregnant pause. The fire in Sosostris's lamp had dimmed. The swamp was abnormally silent, lacking the chirp of insects, the caw of nightbirds, the sound of any living beast save their own ragged breathing in the dank marsh air. As if the silence of Fentress's dream had pervaded into their world somehow, with this swamp at its epicenter.

"The age of Redwall Abbey is drawing to a close," said Sosostris. "Your warrior does not speak to you because he can not. His power is ebbing."

"You're not just spoutin' nonsense, but lyin' through your teeth!" said Sully.

Sosostris held her paw over the flame of the lamp. "There once was a power here that controlled this realm and made things as they were, and those things were always good for your kind, in the end. A spirit you may call this power, a deity. He was neither. He has died now, and we are left alone to do as we like. And allow me to tell you. What we like—we as in I, as in my kind—is not what Redwall Abbey—"

"Eulaliaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Something came crashing through the underbrush, flailing its way toward Sosostris, who leapt up with a startled yelp and became entangled in her cloak. She thrashed to the ground as the intruder, whipping and whooping, decapitated flowers and hacked its way through the moss. Fentress and Sully pressed their backs to a nearby tree and kept their heads low, lest a wayward lunge lop off their ears.

Sosostris tried to claw away but the thing overtook her and pinned her to the ground, holding a twitching rapier point to her throat. Standing directly in the dimming lamplight, the thing became somewhat recognizable as a hare, although one who had seen much better days, with a half-shredded uniform and no small supply of scars running along her face.

"And wot's a measly scoundrel like yourself doin' in these woods late at night haranguing a pair of poor maidens like these, eh?"

Sosostris managed to put up her paws where the hare could see them. "Apologies, ma'am, but the two will vouch that I was not saying anything to them that they did not ask to hear."

"That's debatable," muttered Sully.

The hare cast a deranged look toward Sully before prodding the rapier further, as though taking the squirrel's words for fact. Fentress stepped in before any worse could come.

"Please, put up your blade, ma'am. This vixen was doing no harm, at least not that I could tell. Let's not shed blood over trifles."

Up close, Fentress could tell the hare was out of her mind.

"No harm ye could tell, wot?" she said. "Well, that's not sayin' much, vixens are known to be treacherous beasts. 'Tis as my sergeant always used t'say, the only good vermin's a dead one, so howabout we test the adage with this'un here? I been trailin' her a good fortnight or something such of that sort, that I 'ave, but I can see now that 'twas a case of mistaken identity—course, that don't mean we ought to let her go just because she ain't the fox that we thought she was—only good fox's dead fox, and such-and-such—"

Sosostris hurled a pawful of dust into the hare's eyes. The hare recoiled, and in an instant Sosostris was gone, scurrying into the dark with only a rustle of leaves to mark her departure.

The hare bellowed and started after the vixen (in the complete wrong direction), but Fentress and Sully restrained her. "You need to calm down, ma'am," said Fentress, in what she hoped was a soothing and calming tone, "You'll just get yourself hurt blundering through a swamp in the dark like this."

"I'll get that fox, I'll get them all!" said the hare, lashing out a paw and clipping Fentress in the face. She immediately tasted blood.

Sully shouted and fell over and the hare tore away from them. She hurtled into the growth (in the right direction this time), hacking and slashing and snarling.

After a time the swamp went silent again.

Fentress went to Sully and helped her up. The squirrel winced, rubbing at her injured paw. "What in seasons was all that about?"

"Some unfinished business, I'd wager." Fentress wiped a slick of blood from her lip, which she had cut open on one of her teeth in the ruckus. "I'm not inclined to get involved, whatever the matter is. But we learned something important from that Sosostris character."

"Something important? We learned a lot of rubbish, that's what we learned! A lot of cryptic gobbledygook not a word of which I'll believe for a second. Martin's power is waning, Redwall Abbey is doomed… Exactly what a vixen would say, I'd expect no different."

Helping Sully over to the cart to sit down and rest, Fentress took a look at the articles that Sosostris had left behind in her hasty departure. Some old books, some rags, no food or drink besides the cup of tea, a few odd trinkets, and the lamp, but with no discernible method to light it. Fentress wondered if they ought to take the lamp while it still had light left to burn, but Sosostris might return for it, and Fentress didn't feel comfortable stealing, even from a fox. With what meagre supplies were in the cart, Sosostris could not be very well off. She was, after all, living in a swamp.

"Who knows what she meant about the dream and all that," said Fentress. "But I believe her that the lizards are gone. With all the commotion we made, we'd have seen them by now if that weren't the case."

"Good riddance," said Sully.

"But if they went to Redwall, like Sosostris claimed?"

"More lies. How would they even know where that is, let alone find it?"

Fentress opened one of the books and held the pages to the dimming light. It was not a book of spells or potions, as she had expected, but rather a story, written with scratchy paw. From only a quick glance she recognized it as the tale of Matthias, one of Redwall's most venerated heroes of yore, except written from the point of view of his adversary, Cluny the Scourge.

The book was illustrated with elaborate woodcuts of pestilence and death.

"The rat with Martin's Sword. He knows where Redwall is. Maybe he led them there."

Sully hesitated before replying. "Yeah, and maybe maybe maybe. Maybes mean nothing. Let's—Can we just get some shuteye before we start theorizin' and runnin' off somewhere else? I'm exhausted."

"Yes," said Fentress, thinking of Martin's Sword and Redwall and what Sosostris had said and the hare and all that had happened that day. A second home uprooted and ruined beneath her footpaws, dropping her lost and adrift into the endless expanse of the outer world and its agonies. "Yes, let's find someplace to sleep."


	10. 10

10

The next day came.

Fentress was the first to wake. She had dreamed about something, but forgotten the dream immediately, only able to grasp at faint etches of it before they faded and left her with nothing. Beside her, Sully snored away, curled up in a bed of leaves. Fentress let her be.

She poked her head out of the hovel in which they taken shelter for the night. The forest remained silent, somehow more uncanny at dawn than it had been at night. Where had gone the chirp of songbirds, the buzz of insects? If she strained her ears she could make out a faint gurgle, deep, subterranean; the sound of the ground.

At the very least she had her bearings, aided by the direction the sun came streaming through the canopy. They would head east for the River Moss and regroup with Friar Alger, as had been the original plan. They would stick to that, in spite of Sosostris's vague warnings about Redwall. Sully was not in good enough condition to march farther for potentially no reason. And if the lizards really had gone for the Abbey, perhaps they and Alagadda's forces would clash and wind up slaying each other, or at least enough of each other to make the Redwallers's job easier.

Considering the previous day's events, Fentress was tempted to let Sully sleep, but they could not stay still for long. She shook her friend.

"Wake up, Sully."

Sully turned over. "Ugh."

"Wake up."

"I'm up already, whaddya want?"

"How's your paw?"

"Stiff. Swollen. Painful. I'll live."

"Did you have any dreams?"

Sully gave her a look. "Did you?"

"No."

"Me neither."

They walked the better half of the day before they reached the River Moss, slowed by Sully's paw, which Fentress could tell had worsened either during the night or through the wear and tear of their escapades the day prior, and would probably only continue to worsen as they walked. Fentress tried to help out as much as she could, supporting Sully's bad side, but she was limited not by her capacity to shoulder the burden but Sully's indignation. When Fentress offered to carry Sully on her back up a particularly treacherous-looking hill, Sully stamped her paw and jabbed a finger in Fentress's face.

"I'll hear none o'that charity business, I ain't been carried by anybeast since my mother carried me as a babe an' that ain't changin' today."

When they reached the river, they gave a unified sigh of thanks and plunged their sore footpaws into the water, which swirled and swirled across the banks.

"Our next goal is to find Alger and the others," said Fentress. "Alger said earlier they were hoping to find help on the river. Maybe they've already rounded up some—"

"Oh come on," said Sully. "Alger don't need us for that. Why d'we gotta be rushin' off everyplace as soon as we get t'where we was goin' afore? I know the situation's dire an' all, but we ain't helpin' much tuckerin' ourselves out runnin' to an' fro without thinkin' much about where we're even goin'."

Fentress knew that Sully was really asking respite for her paw; it was not like Sully to lament rushing anywhere. But she spoke sense either way. Alger could be anywhere on the river, north or south, and finding him might be an ordeal. They ought to at least figure out a plan before heading off on another march.

Not to mention, she could really go for a swim.

"Alright," she said. "We camp here for a good bit. I'll see what vittles I can round up. Maybe there's something in the river here."

Sully scrunched her face. "Like a fish? You don't expect me to eat fish, do you?"

"I know seafood's not much to your palate, but that's not all that's underwater. Seaweed may not look the most appetizing, but I've learned plenty of good ways to serve it to change that—Watch."

Sidling out of her shredded habit, Fentress plunged into the river. She had not swam in so long that the chill of the water startled her at first. But soon the memories flooded back. Water had once been her element, something she thrived in, nearly lived in. The earliest thing she could remember was her father teaching her how to swim, how to dive, how to hold her breath. She had not been a strong swimmer at first, and her father had kept demanding she get in the water, although she had cried and screamed for mother where it was safe and warm.

Now she felt new life flooding into her. Streaming to the bottom of the river, she immediately found the kind of algae she knew to be edible and wrenched several leafy stalks out of the inundated soil.

Underwater was like flying, Fentress had always thought. She had never flown and had never known a bird well enough to ask them about it, but if anything was like flying it would be swimming, where weight didn't matter.

Of course, she still had to come up for air from time to time. She paddled her way up to the surface and emerged at the bank, shaking droplets from her head and plopping the seaweed next to Sully.

"Look here, this'll make—"

Sully was not alone on the bank of the river. Crawling across the mud toward them was Sosostris, barely recognizable from their previous encounter the night before. Her silver eyes were dull and dead in the light, like marbles, or pebbles. Her fur lacked all lustre, her pelt appeared ready to fall from her bone. Her arms, reaching and groping her way across the bank, could have been snapped clean in half by a reasonably strong creature.

"Please," said Sosostris, "Please help me."

"Get away from here," said Sully. "Don't touch me!"

Sosostris seized her by the habit and pulled her close. "Please! Please, I beg of you, I'll tell you anything, anything you want, no riddles, no gimmicks. I can tell you all about Lady Alagadda, and her army, and her captains, and how Jareck isn't nearly as old as he seems—"

"Sosostris," said Fentress. "Calm down and release her, or I will restrain you."

She had not expected the order to work, but Sosostris immediately let go of the habit and threw herself into the mud before Fentress, sniveling and pleading. "Please, you're reasonable, you're both goodbeasts, please. I know I'm just a dirty fox and I don't deserve anything, but please, please."

"Calm down, Sosostris," said Fentress. "Is that hare still after you?"

"She chased me all night," said Sosostris. "I couldn't shake her, she kept screaming—Look, look what she did!" Sosostris extended a bare, withered arm, across which ran a long scratch. "She did this with her rapier, I only barely managed to escape—Please! Don't let her kill me."

Sully shrugged. "That hare's a madbeast. What're we s'posed t'do? If you wanna live, you best start runnin'."

Sosostris let out a strangled sob and Fentress shot Sully a glare as she climbed out of the river. "Sosostris, we can try, but as my friend said, there's no guarantee we can do anything."

"Save me and I'll tell you everything about Alagadda, all her weaknesses, all her follies, all her—Oh no."

The brushes rustled. Fentress, Sully, and Sosostris stared in motionless silence for a moment before the hare emerged, rapier drawn, a red glint in her eye. Her uniform, at which Fentress had not gotten a good look in the fracas the night before, was torn and haggard, but recognizable as the uniform of the Long Patrol.

"Aha." The hare pointed her rapier at Sosostris. "Found ye. I'll gizzard your guts out—gut your gizzards out—garters your grains out—for wot y'did, that I will, or my name's not Staff Sergeant Bristol Isabella Rensselaer-LaBette."

"But ma'am," said Fentress, "You admitted yourself last night that this creature had done nothing wrong. In fact, so far she has been nothing but helpful and polite to us." (Shooting a glance at Sully to preempt any sarcastic quip.) "Foxes and vermin have often proved foul in the past, and continue to do so in this day and age, but the stories have shown rare instances where kind beasts come from the most unexpected places. On even the slightest chance that this fox is a goodbeast, we should not harm her until she prove otherwise."

"Oh ho," said Bristol Isabella Something-Something, a solitary loose medal jangling over her breast pocket, "I was mistaken indeed, mistaken about being mistaken. This vixen has most certainly proven herself a right scoundrel, that she has, and indeed was part of the horde that slew my entire platoon. For that, she'll die."

"It's a lie!" said Sosostris, seizing Fentress's paw. "I know to whom she's referring, and it isn't me, she's gotten me confused with someone else, she's mad—don't you see?"

As Bristol had begun to advance on the cowering vixen, Fentress forced herself in front of the hare to bar her path. "Let's not be rash, ma'am. Allow her to tell her story before slaying a defenseless beast."

Bristol scoffed. "Allow a vixen to speak her mischief? I'd rather toss a saber to a corsair, I'd rather hand a whip to a weasel. She's not defenseless as long as her tongue's still in her skull—but allow me to change that."

Fentress blocked her. "Ma'am. I know something bad has happened to you. But that's not an excuse to lose track of your senses and start slaughtering beasts willy-nilly—"

Bristol shoved Fentress aside with one sweep of her arm. Fentress, unready for the sudden display of strength, lost her balance and tripped. Sosostris made a whimpering noise and backed up against the bank of the river as Bristol advanced, baring the rapier menacingly.

Before she could reach the vixen, Sully stood up and blocked her path as well. "I'm not all too fond of the fox myself, but the day's too nice and the river too clean for you to sully it with blood."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," said Sosostris.

"Stow it, fox, you sound pathetic," said Sully.

Bristol sighed. "Has this vixen already wormed her way into your heads and possessed you to defend her? 'Tis not my prerogative to assault young maids, and I detest nothing more than harming goodbeasts. But if the two of you attempt to restrain me, I'll be forced to move you aside for your own good."

For a moment, Sully looked about ready to falter. Then, with a lunge, she seized Bristol's sword paw and wrenched at the rapier. Bristol's grip was tight and she did not let go, but she could not shake Sully either, and the two locked into an automaton dance of staggered steps and jerky movements. Fentress grabbed Bristol from behind and tried to restrain her flailing arms to little avail, able to watch over the hare's shoulder as Sosostris took the opportunity to scurry down the bank with nary a glance behind her, soon disappearing from the scene entirely.

Bristol let loose a feral howl and flung Fentress from her back, before sending a swift kick to Sully's injured ankle and causing the squirrel to fall over screeching in pain. The hare wheeled on Fentress and readied the rapier for a lunge.

Fentress held up her paws. "Don't."

A glint had sunk into Bristol's eye, clouded and misted with a bloody cataract. Bristol stood in position to lunge, a stertorous labored breathing ripping its way between her bared teeth. A few seconds passed. The mist subsided. Bristol lowered her weapon.

"Apologies, miss," said the hare. "Things got a little hectic there, I don't mean the two of ye any harm, even if you're a tad deluded." She turned to Sully. "You alright, miss?"

Sully lay on her back, holding her ankle and squinting tear-filled eyes.

Bristol gazed down the way Sosostris had fled, and then slumped to the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"Sure felt like you meant to," said Sully.

Fentress's fur had dried enough from her foray into the river and she put her habit back on, rubbing a bruise or two of her own she had received in the scuffle. "It's alright, ma'am. I know things must be difficult for you. When was the last time you rested, or had a good meal?"

"Meal," said Bristol, the word sailing piteously from her mouth. "'Tis as if I've never eaten in my whole life, that's how my stomach feels at least."

Grabbing the seaweed and brushing off a few flecks of dirt, Fentress set about the task of preparing it. "Hold quick, then, I'll have us a salad whipped up in no time. I'm not sure if it'll sate the legendary appetite of a Long Patrol hare, but it's better than nothing, no?"

Of course, Fentress had no instruments with which to prepare anything, even a salad. Seeing this, Bristol drew a dirk from a sheath on her side and passed it hilt-first to her. "Much thanks, friend. I haven't been feeling much myself lately, must be the famine I've been forced through, wot?"

"Oh, so we're all friends now," said Sully. "Okay."

Bristol's brows knitted. "I said my blinkin' apologies already, what more d'ye want from me? If you knew what that fox'd done, you'd—well no, no, this is no way for an officer of the Long Patrol to act to a civilian, wot. Pardon, been far too long since I've seen another living creature of respectable disposition, it's all either vermin or blinkin' lizards prowling about in the woods these days."

"There's no reason to provoke her, Sully," said Fentress. "It's clear she's sincere in her apologies. Please, ma'am, allow us to introduce ourselves. I'm Fentress, and this is my friend Sully. If the habits didn't give us away, we're from Redwall Abbey."

Bristol, still sitting, gave a lopsided bow that managed to hold to a few tattered vestiges of decorum. "Charmed, ladies. As I may have mentioned before, I'm Staff Sergeant Bristol Isabella Rensselaer-LaBette, but call me Bristol. None of that ma'aming either, unless you're under my command I'll hear none of it."

Sully gave her a salute. Fentress couldn't tell if the salute was sincere or in mockery.

The entire time, Fentress had been chopping away at the seaweed, and now had three portions to serve amongst them in bowls constructed from dockleaves. Bristol dug her face into hers and wolfed it down almost in one gulp.

"It's not much, I know," said Fentress, "But seaweed's rich food, good and hearty. That's what my father always told me, at least."

Bristol made scarfing noises.

When she finished, she wiped her mouth and stifled a belch. "Delicious, if I do say so myself. Never thought I'd say that about a stinkin' sea-plant! Of course, they say when you're famished everything tastes twice as exquisite as usual. Must be why I never met a food I didn't like!"

The three of them laughed together. It was good to see the hare in high spirits. She seemed much more like how Fentress had always envisioned a Long Patrol hare to seem, boisterous, jovial. Of course, all she had to go on as to the subject were stories from her father long ago, as she had never seen one with her own eyes before.

The mood was so light that Fentress didn't have the heart to ask Bristol what had happened to her and her platoon, and why she had pursued Sosostris with such single-minded determination. Probably not the kind of story one enjoys retelling. How long ago had it happened? How long had Bristol been on her own, wandering in this state? Her gaunt form could barely fill the narrow, torn uniform and its faded, unspooling threads. One eye, from time to time, twitched erratically. Her ears were lopsided and wild, her fur strewn with leaves and small sticks.

Alagadda probably had something to do with it. Bristol had claimed Sosostris was involved, and Sosostris during her frantic begging had admitted knowledge of Alagadda and her army. Would forging a common foe between them strengthen their camaraderie? A Long Patrol hare would be a vital ally in the strife to retake Redwall. But could Fentress trust Bristol to behave in a fashion befitting her rank and position? Might not a half-mad creature prove more a liability than a boon?

Well, at the very least, Fentress wouldn't abandon the hare to her own devices. They would find Friar Alger and ask him; he would know. Perhaps Sister Selma would have a remedy to whatever malady had stricken Bristol anyway. That would be for the best.

The river and the day were so placid and Fentress's thoughts so involved that she hardly realized she was nodding off until her head jolted up with the shock of falling asleep too fast. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Beside her, Bristol lay sprawled against the bank, uttering ghastly snores. Sully sat with her knees folded up under her arms, watching the water.

"Are you alright, Sully?" Fentress asked.

"Fen, d'you know where Alger an' the others are?"

"On the river, somewhere. We'll have to start marching again soon to search for them. Your paw doing better?"

"Why'd Alger wanna come to the river in the first place?"

Fentress mulled it over. "To get help, I believe he mentioned at some point."

"Help from what?"

Fentress shrugged. "Why?"

Sully pointed a finger upstream. Fentress narrowed her eyes and looked, but saw nothing but the same stretch of water that they had been staring at for the good part of morning. As she focused further, she could make out a small dot very far in the distance. The dot grew and grew, until it emerged as a craft of some sort sailing down the river, a wooden barge with a white sail and a mast.

The ship moved fast, until it came full force into view at the bend in the river nearest them, a massive oaken thing propelled by both wind and oar, a full galley of the latter heaving and hoing from the massive bulging sides of the boat. Fentress could make out only one small figure standing on the deck of the ship, a small, mousey creature with a large floppy hat and a bright crimson jacket.

"Ahoy," said Fentress, raising her paw. "You're Guosim, aren't you?"

The shrew on the mast held up a paw to some unseen creatures behind him. The oars ceased paddling and the ship slowed as drifted beside them.

"I thought Guosim rode in logboats," said Sully. "This here's a full river galleon."

As far as Fentress could remember, the Guosim had indeed sailed logboats instead of the much grander type of ship she now saw, as she had often encountered them partaking in trade or discussion with her father, who had been an important otter chieftain. Still, what other water-bound shrews in Mossflower could they be?

The shrew in the red jacket, who must have been the Log a Log, leaned over the railing on the ship and called to them. "You ladies goin' somewhere?"

The shrew's piercing gaze fell on Fentress and for the first time in what seemed like ages she felt the sting of her own inability to speak to creatures of authority and took a step back, bowing her head. It was odd, however. She hadn't felt the familiar anxiety when she spoke with either Sosostris or Bristol; in fact, she had taken charge on those conversations, with hardly any help needed from Sully. What was different about those two than the shrew captain perched atop his craft?

Sully caught on immediately to the shift in her demeanor and with a sigh returned the address. "We're lookin' for a few of our friends. You happen to notice a group of about twoscore Abbeydwellers roundabouts?"

A glint flashed in the Log a Log's eye. He reached up and ruffled a long, vibrant-colored feather that stuck out of his massive floppy hat. "Why, indeed we have. We've got exactly who you're searchin' for as guests back at our camp. Why don't you ladies hop aboard an' we can have you join 'em in no time?"

Sully and Fentress exchanged a glance. "Really?" said Sully. "That's great! Thanks a bunch!"

"Don't mention it," said the shrew. A few of his comrades, also shrews, had joined him abovedecks, all in much more traditional Guosim garb compared to their leader. "I'm Log a Log Kennebec, and this is my flagship, the Kennebec. Pleased to have you aboard."

A pair of shrews tossed down a rope ladder. It unfurled against the side of the ship, landing just off the bank of the river.

Fentress gave Bristol a light shake on the shoulder to rouse her, but she had fallen into some sort of deep slumber and only stirred a little. Her leg kicked out, and she made a whimpering noise.

"Who's that you got with you, ladies?" asked Log a Log Kennebec, pointing at Bristol with a cutlass he had drawn.

"A friend of ours," said Sully. Her voice had a waver of defensiveness that Fentress didn't understand. "She welcome too?"

Kennebec frowned and consulted one of the shrews nearby in hushed undertones. When he finished, a group of five or six crew members started filing down the rope ladder in quick succession, hardly even placing their footpaws on the rungs as they plopped into the shoals.

"Mayhaps we ought to… help her up, she don't look too steady, if you catch my drift."

"What does that mean?" whispered Fentress. Sully shrugged. Bristol looked a tad ragged, to be sure, but completely capable of climbing a simple rope ladder on her own, at least when she woke. Fentress shook the hare again, harder than before.

Bristol's eyes snapped open just as the shrew sailors gathered around her. She took one glance at them before turning her head to Fentress and Sully and uttering the word:

"Run!"

A moment later she had leapt up and lashed out at the nearest shrew, clipping him on the mouth and causing him to recoil. The other shrews immediately piled onto her from behind, wrestling her to the ground.

One of the shrews had taken out a wooden staff of some sort and pummeled Bristol over the back with it. Fentress seized the shrew's wrist as he raised the staff to swing again. "Stop, she doesn't know what she's doing, don't hurt her!"

With a trickle of blood running between her ears, Bristol forced her head up and shouted, "These traitors are in league with vermin! Run!"

Fentress tried to parse the words, tried to make meaning out of them. They seemed so unreal to her, so completely nonsensical, that even as the shrew she had accosted turned his baton on her and struck her across the face she fell to the ground not believing them.

A second blow came and everything went black.


	11. 11

11

The young day beamed over the grounds of Redwall Abbey. Captain Kludd—or rather, Tuscarawas of the One Blade, as he preferred—took a leisurely stroll through what now belonged to him, the blade of Martin the Warrior strapped to his hip for all of his newfound army to gawk at with their yellow, reptilian eyes.

"Have you found her yet, Darkscale?" he asked the large, stupid lizard he had appointed his second-in-command more-or-less at random, as all of the lizards were equally large and stupid and equally eager to please him.

Darkscale shuffled along beside him. "Uh-uh… Yezz, we have found the one with the many bladez… But zhe hazz zlain many of uzz…"

Of course. Kludd had not expected Alagadda to keel over and die, even with her wounds. She was the one wrinkle left in his plan for complete control over the Abbey, a plan less than a day ago Kludd had not even the slightest formulation in his mind. The idea that he could contest one as shrewd and skilled as Lady Alagadda had never before come to him, and even now the thought struck him with a faint sense of dread. But Alagadda, skilled as she was, was but one beast. Her horde was no more, Kludd—and his lizards—had made sure of that. As Darkscale explained the situation in more detail, Kludd was able to piece together than Alagadda had holed herself in the Abbey library with Vellis and perhaps a few others.

Which was fine. The library had one exit (Kludd himself had learned this when he had captured Fannin there earlier). Alagadda could not escape. Either through relentless assault or starvation or a host of other nefarious plans that flitted through his mind—fire, poison, methods of murder both monstrous and cathartic to a rat who had not long before been lorded over by this same Alagadda with undue cruelty—he would destroy her, and then he would rule Redwall as Tuscarawas the King of Lizards, who were all the army he needed.

(In the back of his mind, however, he made sure never to forget the female lizard who had appeared so much smarter than her brethren and who had challenged Marclaw to duel him. She had disappeared, but Kludd knew she was lurking somewhere, plotting. Were these the kinds of concerns great horde leaders suffered on a daily basis?)

Perhaps he could save himself a lot of time and grief with some good old fashioned diplomacy. Gathering a large posse of his biggest and stupidest lizards around him, making sure to keep most of them arrayed in front of him to block any potential arrows headed his way, he cut a course for the eastern end of the Abbey grounds, where the windows of the library watched over the orchard and the pond and the tranquility of the morning.

"Hail, Lady Alagadda of the Many Blades." He affected the tone of the leader, to which he had grown accustomed. Leading and bragging were similar things, he had discovered. As long as you spoke with enough boldness and conviction, others believed you.

For a few seconds the small, circular windows around the library were dark and empty. Then, Lady Alagadda's head poked out.

"So this is yore doin', Kludd? I knew ye weren't as daft as ye looked. 'Tis why I appointed ye my captain. Think I give away that job to ninnies?"

Kludd didn't come for small talk. "It ain't Kludd no more. You'll refer to me as Tuscarawas of the One Blade, an' nuttin' else."

Any shred of conviviality that Alagadda had attempted to muster evaporated. "Of the—Of the One Blade? You swindlin' cheat, yer swipin' my moniker! How dare you, I worked hard for that'un!"

"Now now, Lady Alagadda," said Kludd. "Ye ain't in much a position t'be clingin' to little things such as names an' whatnot. In fact, ye ain't in much a position at all. Who've ye got in that library with ye, Vellis an' who else? Conredd, Jareck mebbe? A few stragglers?"

"'Tis nobeast but me an' Vellis," said Alagadda, with a note of pride. "An' we'll kill every last one of yore stupid lizzerds afore doin' the same with yore own worthless self, Kludd, just you wait an' see. We already got quite the collection o'corpses stacked in front o'the hearth here, skinned an' ready fer cookin'. Mm, delicious, wouldn't ye say, Vellis?"

The next moment, Alagadda ducked down out of the window and Vellis popped up, bow already taut. Kludd had only an instant to react, diving behind Darkscale as the string loosed its arrow with a twang. The lizard took the bolt in the shoulder without cry or complaint, merely brainless wonder at the shaft caught between his scales. He wrenched it out with a pluck of his curved claws and dropped it to the floor.

Kludd was already back on his footpaws. "Nice try, why don'tcha have another go, Vellis? Ye only got so many arrers, but I got lizzerds to take 'em aplenty."

Vellis had already disappeared from the window, replaced by Alagadda.

"Listen 'ere, Kludd," she said. "'Cuz I'm only tellin' you this once. The only one who oughtta be pleadin' fer mercy here is you, yer just too stupid t'notice yet. Either I'll get ye, or Vellis will, or those stupid lizzerds will when they realize whatever lies you spooned 'em ain't even half true. Y'may think ye've slain my horde, an' mebbe you 'ave. But I ain't Alagadda of the Many Blades simply 'cuz I got a lotta knives t'sling. Ye'll see soon enough, Kludd. Soon enough."

She hurled a raucous guffaw at him before ducking back beneath the window. The lizards on the grounds turned to Kludd in unison to see his response.

He shrugged. "Worthless, self-important beasts as her ain't worth my time, especially not now that I got this whole fortress to mesself." He projected his voice so that even Alagadda and Vellis in the library could hear, but played the words as if they were merely his thoughts. A bit more directed, he pointed at Darkscale. "Find a way into that library and kill the both of 'em, I don't care how ye do it or how long it takes, as long as it happens. When they're dead, show me the corpses, then ye can do with 'em whatever ye please. Or better yet, bring 'em alive, an' I can think of some horrible method of death more suitin' their insolence."

Darkscale saluted with a toothy grin. Kludd strolled away from the window without a care for his former leader and her flighty aide, abolishing the both of them from his thoughts nigh instantaneously upon removing them from his vision. The Abbey belonged to him.

* * *

The Abbey belonged to Kludd, no doubt, but many surreptitious creatures scurried in its dark corners, evading capture and certain death at the claws of his lizard army, which had more or less gotten to lazing about hapdash after gorging on the slaughtered bodies of Alagadda's former horde. The Redwallers had fortified their position in the cellar, dismantling a few empty barrels to board the door more effectively. Under the direction of Abbott Walden and Cellarhog Gilmer, the tattered creatures set to work crafting more things of use from the spare parts, including strong wooden shafts that could be used as weapons in conjunction with the knotted ropes they had employed as flails.

Jareck and his cohort of assorted vermin watched their processes from the darkest corner of the cellar, the table upon which they had played card games the night before serving as a barrier between them and the woodlanders. Jareck himself had not spoken in some time, shuffling his cards again and again and gnawing his coin idly. Letcher the rat, however, recovered from his previous injury, had gathered the four remaining vermin and conspired with them in hushed tones.

"They may be a lot o'them," he said, wrapping a paw around Switz's shoulder and pulling him close in confidentiality, "But they're soft, weaklings all. Ain't none o'them used a real weapon in their life, an' aside from that squirrel, ain't none o'them e'en got a real weapon to use."

He indicated Laramie, who still had the sword she had taken during the fracas the night before. She was crouched by the corpse of the lizard, studying it, her eyes squinting in the dim light.

"We take her first," Letcher continued. "'Twill be easy, she's just a maid, an' her back's turned to boot. Then while they're still surprised we go for the hog, he's the only other of 'em that's a threat. Those two down, an' they'll do what we say."

Switz glanced at his comrades for some sort of response. They made none.

Jareck flicked a card out of his deck, watched it sail up into the air, and caught it as it fell. "'Twill never work, an' why should we want 'em doin' our biddin' now anyway?"

"Ye daft or what, ye old stoat," said Letcher. "The exit outta this accursed Abbey's not more'n a good sprint from 'ere. We can send these'uns out as a distraction and let the lizzerds or whatever's out there go for 'em, an' then we sneak out while the coast's clear. Or's that too complicated a plan fer you t'unnerstand?"

Jareck shrugged and went back to his cards.

Not long after, Abbott Walden called an assembly. "All the armament imaginable will not help us," he said, "Unless we put it to intelligent use. We cannot blindly charge into the open without plan or foresight."

"An' how're we s'posed to know what's out there," said Gilmer.

"Somebeast will need to scout the landscape," said Walden, his gaze stern behind his spectacles. "It will be a dangerous task. But I cannot, in good conscience, send so many of the denizens of the Abbey out without at first knowing what it is exactly we're up against."

"We know what we're up against." It was Laramie. The gaze of the crowd wandered to her and her bloodstained habit. She pointed with the tip of her sword at the lizard carcass sprawled on the cobblestone. "That is what we're up against. A lizard, dredged up from some swamp somewhere, foul an' reekin' as any pestilent reptile has e'er been. I've read every chronicle of Redwall Abbey in my short time as Recorder, an' only once have I heard tell of a lizard as large and vicious as this—the chronicle of Craklyn squirrel, who wrote in a time almost forgotten in our modern era. She wove a tale of a distant island and a wizard emperor, who commanded a legion of creatures like this. But those lizards were wiped out, erased from this country to live only in the pages of that story. These are something even more fearsome, even more terrible to behold—"

"Laramie, please, you are frightening creatures with your dramatics," said Abbott Walden.

Laramie had raised her arms during her speech. With an embarrassed nod, she lowered them. "Forgive me. What I am trying to say is this: It took ten strikes of this sword to pierce the scales on this creature, and another three strikes to bring it down afterward. A weapon like a spear may do more damage at getting through their natural defenses, but we're on short commodity of such. Rope flails will do next to nothing to them."

"Then what shall we do," asked Walden.

Laramie paused. Everybeast, even the vermin, watched her, unblinking. "I don't know. But a scout—If we send them, it'll be to certain death. Those things are waiting just outside the door—we can hear them scratching!"

Nobeast said a word. The faint scratch of claw on wood was unmistakable.

"But there is no other option," said Walden.

"Pardon me a moment, goodbeasts."

Again heads turned, faced the new speaker. It was Jareck, coin clamped between his fangs.

"This isn't your discussion, stoat," said Laramie.

"I want to survive, same as the lot o'ye," said Jareck. "Currently I've no further agenda. An' since survival is my sole state o'mind at the moment, my mind's been whirrin' an' whirrin' an' comin' up with a few ideas, which I'd kindly share with you goodbeasts if ye don't mind."

Nobeast spoke. Laramie's eyes narrowed; he acted as if he did not notice her.

"If those creatures are queued up outside the cellar door waitin' fer us," he said, "Then it makes sense t'me we make our exit someplace else."

"There ain't no other exit," said Gilmer. "I been workin' in this cellar what seems my whole life justabouts, an' the walls 'ave stayed exactly the same that whole time. Yer speakin' gibberish, stoat."

"There ain't no other exit yet," said Jareck. "Now tell me, yer all creatures've lived an' breathed in this Abbey for some long number o'seasons. Mebbe you know a liddle bit 'bout the architecture of this place. What's directly above us, directly above my head right now?"

He pointed upward at a dark and obscure ceiling.

Foremole Griggs tapped a digging claw to his chin. "Oi'd say, burr, oither th'kitchunn urr th'sturrum."

Jareck mulled the words of the mole over, placing great emphasis on them. "The kitchen or the storeroom. The kitchen or the storeroom. Yes, I do believe either of those'd be good places to make an exit."

"You're an idiot," said Laramie. Although she didn't believe it. This Captain Jareck knew a lot more than she would have expected, speaking of architecture and other things. But he was wrong on this count, at least. "These lizards are hungry. The first place they'd be is the kitchen, probably still in there, devourin' all they can get their claws on."

"Mebbe if lizzerds was normal beasts like you an' me, shore," said Jareck. "But they ain't normal beasts an' they ain't got the tooth for cream-filled pastries an' veggie salads, I don't think. No, they got a hankerin' fer meat, raw meat, an' I reckon they shore found a lot o' that in the banquet hall where my former comrades had gathered to enjoy their feast. That kitchen's the last place I expect any o' them lizzerds t'be."

Jareck reclined in his seat, fiddling with his deck of cards and his coin and all his other trinkets with a smile etched on his face, a smile that indicated he had won, he was right. Which was what a creature like Jareck reveled in, lived for, not accruing mountains of junk swiped from lousy gambling, but the satisfaction of being right, of knowing more than everybeast else, or at least thinking he did. He must have been thinking of an escape plan since the very beginning, and only brought it up once he had surveyed the plan from every angle, assaulted it, came up with an answer for every possible objection raised.

She knew his response to her next objection before she said it, but she said it anyway, to get it over with quicker. She didn't like that he was right, and it took all her mental fortitude to prevent herself from saying any more than she did. "An' how're we s'posed to knock a hole in that ceiling large enough for somebeast to squeeze through, an' do it timely an' quiet-like?"

Jareck pointed where she expected he would; at Foremole Griggs. "Ain't he know a thing or two 'bout diggin' holes?"

"Do you think you could do it, Foremole?" she asked.

Griggs tapped his chin again. Tap tap tap. He walked near Jareck, stared at the ceiling, squinted his eyes, made measurements in his head and with his limbs, called over a few members of his crew and consulted them. The moles whispered amongst themselves, nodded heads, collected the tools available to them, checked them up against the brick walls of the cellar.

As though oblivious to the army of eyes upon him, Foremole Griggs finally turned directly to Laramie and said, "Oi shore coodd, oi rekkun."

Laramie looked to Abbott Walden, who had fallen into the darkness while the others had spoken around him. The venerable old vole roused himself with some adjusting of his spectacles and addressed the crowd.

"Then unless one has a better plan, let's move forward."


	12. 12

12

Fentress woke not remembering when or where she had gone to sleep, and unable to tell when or where she had waken. Things creaked, shadows flitted across her hazy vision. She rubbed her head, which was sore and scabbed, although not scabbed enough to prevent a dull wetness from seeping into her fingers.

"Eh, she's comin' 'round. Get her some drink."

A glass bottle pressed against her mouth and water flowed through. She gulped down the water, coughed, gulped down some more.

"What happened," she asked.

"Y'took a lump," replied the same voice as before, a female voice. Somebeast touched her. "I'd like t'say yer gonna be alright now, but I'd be lyin'."

"I can't see anything," said Fentress. "Where's Sully?"

"I'm right here," said Sully. Who knew where "right here" was, though. Fentress reached a paw toward the direction of the sound and another paw took hers and clasped it.

"Those shrews," Sully continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "They took out you an' the hare and wrestled me down fer good measure. They tossed us in the brig, an' that's where we are now. Dark in here."

Oh, yes. It came back to her. Most of it, at least. That shrew captain—Log a Log Kennebec, his name had been. Had he ordered them attacked? Was there a misunderstanding?

The voice that had spoken earlier spoke again. "Now that yer up, next time they come 'round for 'spection they'll put you to rowin' duty, same as the rest of us. Fer now, we're docked. Who knows where."

Rowing—docked—inspection. It was too much for Fentress's addled mind to comprehend all at once. "Where's Bristol," she asked.

"Still out," said Sully.

"And why," said Fentress, "Why are Guosim shrews attacking peaceful passerby and forcing slaves to row their ships?"

A bustle of commotion arose from the dark and for the first time Fentress realized there were many more creatures in the hull with them. They all seemed to be muttering the same thing: Luce, Luce.

"Stow it," said the first voice, the strongest voice. "I told this story enough times already, I'm too tired o' tellin' it to tell it again. They'll figger it out in their own time."

"But Luce—"

"I'm too tired to tell it!" snapped Luce. A squeak of dismay from whoever had spoken previously followed.

"Please, Luce," said Fentress. In the dark, with all faces obscured, speaking came easy. "My friend and I come from Redwall Abbey, which has fallen to a horde of vermin. We were separated from the other Abbeydwellers, who went to the river for help. I need to know if you have seen them or not."

A pause. Luce seemed to contemplate what was said. Finally, she replied: "Yeah, we seen 'em. Big group of 'em, right, all in those green rags? Got rounded up by Kennebec an' his crew o' corsairs. But there were too many of 'em to set t'rowin'. He shipped 'em off to his headquarters. That's all I know of 'em, I been in this hull fer weeks now, only see the sun when the hatch opens."

"But they're alright? Our friends?"

"As alright as you or me," said Luce.

Fentress tried to process the information, tried to tie the knots together, but her head was still fuzzy and the inability to see didn't help. Just as she was on the verge of giving up until she got some more rest—she was deathly tired—a scratching came from above and the voices in the hull whispered for quiet before a gleaming square of light opened up and illuminated them all. Fentress shielded her eyes but in the sudden surge of light she could only make out writhing masses of creatures, mostly young and gaunt and clutching at rags, shuffling out of the way as a large shrew appeared in the hatch and let out a guffaw.

"Arright, now. Had enough chitchat, y'lazybeasts? We're movin' on upstream, headin' back home. Rowin' positions, move!"

The creatures obeyed without protest, scurrying left and right onto small wooden benches. At each bench was a massive staff impaling the side of the ship, which Fentress surmised were the oars. She caught the eye of Sully and tried to ask wordlessly what they should do. Sully only shrugged.

"I said git up and move," said the big shrew, reaching to his side. He seized a coiled whip and with one smooth stroke unfurled it with a massive crack against the side of the wall. "Log a Log wants us movin' fast. We got one more deposit to make afore we head to meet with some business partners, an' these ain't the kinda partners that like lateness in a creature, no sir. Now git!"

Although he cracked the whip again with such force that Fentress feared somebeast would be hurt, none of the creatures cried out or even flinched. In fact, all of them were already at their posts on the bench. Then who was the shrew—

"Okay then, if that's the way it'll be. You there. The otter, an' the squirrel, you two. Stand up now, stand up where I can get a better look atcha."

The shrew descended a set of wooden steps leading from the hatch to the hull. Fentress stood up. Sully hesitated, but Fentress pulled her up too. Best not to get on the bad side of the one with the whip. Fentress knew.

"Yer the one's we picked up on the river," said the shrew, scrutinizing them. He glanced over his shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "Look. I'll tell ya this once. Log a Log don't like creatures who slack off. He put ya in here 'cuz he 'spects you to row, so row's what you'll do. If ya don't, you'll have lot worse'n just me t'deal with."

It seemed more like a warning than a threat, and the shrew did not even raise the whip. With a sigh he jabbed out a finger at an unoccupied bench.

"There's yer spot, just opened up. When yer hare wakes up, put her there too, or Log a Log'll be angry."

Fentress grabbed Sully's sleeve and pulled her to the bench, muttering thanks to the shrew as they passed. The shrew said nothing in return, and for a moment Fentress believed they had managed to escape the incident unscathed, until a voice piped up behind them:

"He ain't the Log a Log."

It wasn't Sully. It was Luce. She had risen from her spot at the bench, a small shrew, even by shrew standards, hardly measuring up the the bigger one with the whip.

Fentress expected the shrew to lash at Luce, but he didn't. "Oh come now Luce, do we have to have this argument ev'ry single time? I'm just doin' what I'm told. Quiet down and get to rowin'. Please?"

"Kennebec ain't the Log a Log. Killin' the real Log a Log don't make you one, it makes you a murderer, an' nothin' else. That's Guosim law. You know Guosim law, don't act like you don't, Trego."

Trego rubbed the back of his neck with his paw. "It ain't that simple, Luce. Sometimes law ain't how things go. But look. Quiet down an' get to rowin' afore he comes down to ask why you ain't doin' what he asked. Come on, do it for me, will ya?"

Before Luce could respond and before Fentress could stop her, Sully piped up. "You got that whip. Why don't you make us row, eh?"

"Sully," Fentress hissed, "I'm assuming you've never been whipped before. Let me tell you, it's not a pleasant—"

"This ain't no slaver," said Sully. "This ain't nothin' at all, just a big ol' coward doin' what his captain ordered. We ain't gotta listen to this fool." She had stood up now, motioning to the other creatures in the hull. "We ain't gotta stand for this at all. We ain't even chained down—what's to stop us from risin' up and takin' this whole rotten operation?"

Sully motioned to Luce for support. A smart move. Luce was obviously the ringleader either de facto or de jure of the gaggle of slaves in the hull. And for a moment Fentress thought Luce might say yeah, sure, let's mutiny right here and now. But Luce said nothing. Luce only looked to the hatch which as far as Fentress could tell was the only exit from the hull, and with her looked every other creature, even Trego. Fentress looked too.

Entering the hatch, still wearing his coat and large red hat, was Log a Log (maybe?) Kennebec.

"Yes," said Kennebec, descending the stairs with regal flair, allowing his coat to sweep around him. A few crew members—Fentress couldn't tell how many—followed. "Who is to stop you? As obviously the fellow I appointed to the task has proved insufficient to that end."

Trego whimpered and shuffled out of the way. Kennebec passed without acknowledging him.

"That fool I granted the generous occupation of slaver has done so little slaving I might as well have not had one. Which is a problem, of course. Because I need this ship to move, and fast, and the winds won't move such a fine craft alone. But since that creature I called a slaver has failed so utterly at every other task, at rigging, at navigation, even at cooking—why, I've no idea what I might ever do with such a layabout." Kennebec paused. He held up a finger. "Ah, wait, yes, I do know. I have the perfect job for such a creature. Fishbait."

Trego cried out and threw himself at Kennebec's footpaws. "No sir, no sir Log a Log, please not that, please don't use me for fishbait."

Kennebec ignored the pleas and trod across the prostrate body before turning his attention to the slaves gathered around him. He made a beeline for Sully. Fentress scanned the area for a weapon, a blunt object, anything to grab if things turned grim, but the only thing she could find were the oars, and they were affixed to the benches by large metal bolts.

"Now, I hear such foul things being uttered about mutiny and uprising and what not, just as I come to greet my new subjects. Because I forget creatures are always like this at the beginning of their new lifelong career. So adamant, so contrarian. They have to be educated to understand things my way."

He seemed to move slow but he actually moved fast. Already he had a paw under Sully's chin. "You know, I wasn't planning on keeping you two as rowers, actually. I have much grander plans for my Redwaller guests, which is why you'll find none of your friends down here, although they are all every last one in my custody. But I love feisty ones. The ones that think they are something special, that they are important, that they don't deserve this. Being here. In this hull. Rowing. For the rest of your life. Do you believe you deserve this, dear?"

Sully spat in his face. Kennebec lost not an ounce of composure. He did not even wipe his fur.

"But you do, dear. You deserve this so, so much. Your entire life has been geared for this purpose. Even before your life began, your mongrel parents bred you precisely to pull these oars up and down and up and down and up and down until your little body finally petered out completely and left you a lifeless corpse on these wooden planks."

"Don't speak about my parents," said Sully.

"Because you are meek, dear. You are not strong. You are not smart. You are not a creature of worth. And thus, you are here. You deserve to be here—you belong here. This will be bliss for you."

"I'll ram that hat of yours down your throat," said Sully.

Kennebec chuckled. "I love it. I love it when they fight back. It allows me to prove that I'm correct. Come then. The hat's right here. Make your words more than just words and you and all the others will be allowed to leave. Come now."

"Don't," said Fentress, grabbing Sully by the wrist. "It's a trap. He has a rapier under his coat."

"Don't," said Luce, from far away.

Sully's fists clenched.

Kennebec tilted his head to the side and launched into another monologue. Meant to make it seem like he wasn't paying attention. To make Sully believe she could just leap at him and take him down and walk out. But Fentress knew how foolish it was, because even if Kennebec really were stupid enough to distract himself with his own voice and open up to an attack, and it wasn't just a feint, Sully had nothing but her bare paws to fight with, and undoubtedly the crewbeasts gathered behind Kennebec would intervene. Kennebec did not strike Fentress as an honorable creature. He struck her like vermin.

And then she heard what he was saying.

"You see, I actually saw Lady Alagadda do something similar to this, not long ago. It's a bit of a habit of hers, and for a long time I couldn't puzzle out why she did it. She would subjugate some clan of otters or whatnot, capture their leaders, round up the whole lot of them. Open and shut. But then she'd throw a blade to the chieftain, some big wiry otter or some military hare, and duel them. And I thought, why would you risk your life like that. But then I realized—demoralization. The look on those otters's faces when their chief took a knife to the gullet, why—"

Fentress had taken out his legs and was pummeling him in the face before she received another crack to the skull from behind. She slumped over, dazed, as the shrews pulled her away from Kennebec. Kennebec popped up, swept his jacket, and fixed his hat.

"Well. Didn't expect that."

He leaned in and inspected Fentress. Three shrews had restrained her.

"Ah," said Kennebec. "No wonder. It's an otter. I wonder if she had any relation to the one I was just discussing."

Nothing seemed to fit together in Fentress's vision. Shapes moved, swirled. Colors blended. Something deep inside her managed to snarl: "My father. That was my father."

A smile curled on Kennebec's face. "Ah! The lost daughter of Skipper Faulkner. We had all assumed you died—Actually, no, we didn't assume, I distinctly remember somebeast saying they saw you perish in the swamp. That was so long ago, I can't get the details together. But this is perfect, this all illustrates my point perfectly. Because Skipper Faulkner was a moron. I'll just say it. A total moron. He saw my ship and welcomed us in because he thought he could trust us. He believed my stupid lies about trading and whatnot. And when Lady Alagadda arrived on my behest to aid in his tribe's evisceration—"

"It was you," said Fentress. "It was you."

"Yes, I wasn't quite so stylish back then," said Kennebec. "I don't blame you for failing to recognize me right away."

He turned away, motioning for his crew to release Fentress. She could see nothing anymore. She could only keep repeating, it was you, it was you.

Because it was him. How had she forgotten. How had she failed to remember so much. How long ago had it even been? Time felt nebulous, empty. As if it never existed. Her father had welcomed the shrews, they had feasted, sung songs. Many songs. And then, that night, as they all slept—but Fentress couldn't think. She could hardly even see.

Before the hatch closed, Kennebec said, "Make sure they row, Trego."

All light vanished.

"Fen, Fen are you alright?" said Sully. Her paws shuffled across the boards until she found Fentress. "What were you pullin', that was like something I would pull!"

"I did the same thing once," said Luce. "He gave me a lot worse. But then again, I did a lot worse t'him."

Their words bounced against Fentress, meaning nothing. All she could remember were faint, hazy images of a broken past. Her tribe, slaughtered, their bodies piled up. Her mother, handing her the sword that was her father's, the sword that had been passed down his family line. They ran. Her mother had not made it. Only Fentress had made it, the long smooth blade with its oaken shaft the only thing she had with her.

Somebeast had stolen the sword not long after.

But by then it hadn't mattered, because her father was dead. Her mother was dead. Her friends were dead. Everybeast she had ever known was dead. And she was nothing much more than a babe, toddling through Mossflower Wood, groping for anything with grubby paws.

Alagadda had killed her family. Kennebec had killed her family. Every single one of their respective crews had had a paw in killing her family.

All she could do was tremble against the rough bark of the hull while Sully held her, stroking her fur to calm her down.


	13. 13

13

Foremole Griggs found the excavation much simpler than he had planned. The stone was soft, more dull clay than rock, having seen countless seasons of erosion and rot from the seeping liquids of the kitchen. He and his crew had little to work with, but little was all they needed. They may have been able to do the job with their bare claws.

The floor was caked with red dust. Dibbuns picked up the dust and hurled it into the air and at each other, playing a game. Soon old wives were roped into the mess, trying to stop the raucous activity and winding up with faces full of dust for their trouble, to which even Laramie could not resist laughing.

"How now, Fluvanna," she said to a flustered mousewife wrestling with a pair of uncompromising Dibbuns, "I can't tell if your face's red from the dust or if you've just worked yourself into a tizzy!"

A tiny mole wriggled her way from Fluvanna's paws, leaving holding nothing but her own apron. With a huff, she brushed at her face. "'Tis unsafe for the little ones to be runnin' around down here, methinks," she muttered before swiping at a passing squirrelbabe.

Laramie thought to respond—it was nice having a somewhat normal conversation, for once—but she noticed Jareck striking up a conversation with Foremole Griggs and moved closer to eavesdrop.

"Now, my friend," said the stoat, indicating the work. "I've noticed you've made fine progress cutting our little escape route. I'm no digger like yoreself, friend, but in my humble opinion you an' yore crew've done a swell job."

Griggs beamed with pride. "Thankee zurr, diggin's moi job, so oi'd bee best suited t'doin' it gudd, oi think."

"That's good t'hear," said Jareck, clapping Griggs on the back. "Anything I can help with? I ain't no skilled digger like you, friend, but there must be somethin' I can do."

"Burr, th'crew's got most it thumselves, but if yore lookin' t'help, here's a good dustpile needs clearin'."

Jareck immediately set to work sweeping the offending pile of dust with a makeshift broom he seemed to have been holding the entire time. His sweeping caught the attention of the Dibbuns, who gathered around and started hurling dust at him.

He was up to something, Laramie knew. He picked up the same molebabe with which Fluvanna had wrangled and amused her with the old coin-behind-the-ear magic trick. The stoat had a game, it was a matter of figuring out what it was before it came back to hurt them.

She decided to ask him.

"Excuse me. You said your name was Jareck?"

Jareck let loose the molebabe and tipped an imaginary cap to her. "Charmed, m'dear. I'm afraid you ain't told me yores yet."

"Laramie. I'm the Abbey Recorder."

"Recorder, eh?" He gnawed the coin thoughtfully. "So yore the only one around here knows how to write?"

"We all know how to write. We're taught it in our youth. But I'm the one who marks down our day-to-day lives, for posterity. In case anybeast in the future grows curious and wants to know. Many have done the job before me, and many after."

"Oh yeah? I can write too, y'know."

Laramie tried to ascertain whether he were joking or not. "And who taught you how to do that? Lady Alagadda?" A stupid question, she realized as soon as she said it. Alagadda was at least half Jareck's age.

Jareck snorted. He had gotten the better of her yet again, and he probably hadn't even tried. These small victories kept piling up, Laramie disliked it. "Alagadda don't know a single thing about letters other than that they don't go away. No, you wanna know who taught me? A king, from a foreign land."

He had to be pulling one on her, but his tone of voice never changed from the same blithe conviviality, the same wretched smirk etched on his face with a coin of offering wedged between the ivory fangs.

She changed the subject. "Why are you sweeping the dust?"

"The quicker this excavation business gets settled, the quicker I get outta here."

"Why are you ingratiating yourself to us? What's in it for you?"

Jareck shrugged. "I like creatures to like me. You can have all the knives an' soldiers in the world, but a single stroke from what you thought was a friend can undo all that. If creatures like you, they less apt to do you in. How else you think I made cap'n 'round here without wieldin' a single weapon?"

"So conning your subordinates out of all their possessions, that makes 'em like you?"

"You see, problem there was, our game got interrupted a little early by some unfortunate events. Usually I let 'em win it all back at the end, makes it feel like they won, but I didn't lose a thing."

Laramie decided to take a stab at something. "And the reason you're telling me all this right now is because you've pegged me as the type of creature who doesn't like not knowing things, so you've fed me a few bogus answers to sate my curiosity, is that it?"

Jareck only smiled. For the first time, Laramie felt she had gotten a pawhold on him.

Before either could add anything further to the conversation, Foremole Griggs bustled up and raised his claws for attention. Every head in the cellar turned toward him at once; even the Dibbuns ceased their playfighting in the dust.

"Burr, oi think 'tis done."

* * *

The hole led to the kitchen storeroom, more or less a glorified pantry. The storeroom was as dark as the cellar, the only light coming from the cracks in the door to the kitchen proper. Laramie had elected to be the first up, and peered between the cracks for any glimpse of the lizards. She saw nothing.

She dropped down.

"The immediate area outside the storeroom is clear," she said. "That's all I know."

"Then it's as I said," said Jareck. "Kitchen's our best bet out."

Laramie tried to strip as much satisfaction as possible from his victory by acting as if she were glad it were so—because shouldn't she? They hadn't had a way of escape before, and now they did. What did she care who first suggested the plan, as long as it worked?

Raising a paw for attention, Abbott Walden bumbled to the fore. "Let us not delay, lest the situation change. I will not waste words on a tired speech. I ask for volunteers who would scout the best route of escape from the Abbey. This is a perilous task, and survival is not guaranteed. Those we pick must be fleet of paw, quiet, of calm mind and disposition—"

"I volunteer," said Laramie.

"Me an' my crew are goin'," said Jareck.

"What?" said Laramie.

"What?" said Letcher, and most of the other vermin.

"Well, lemme rephrase that. I'm goin' fer sure. I assume my crew will wanna come with me, instead of stayin' down here all on their lonesome with a buncha creatures don't look at them too kindly."

Letcher pulled in close to Jareck and whispered, "What about our plan?"

"Your plan's terrible. What say you, Laramie? I help you scout, an' then I bolt, an' you don't have to deal with me anymore. I get what I want, you get what you want."

Laramie folded her arms. "You and your crew are raucous louts who'll grab the attention of every single lizard out there."

"All the better you get rid of us now rather'n when you're tryin' to escape with all these goodbeasts in danger."

"We'll lose the element of surprise—they'll know we're coming—"

Before she could protest further, Abbott Walden seized her and pulled her aside. Although he was much shorter than her, he had mustered up a considerable degree of gravitas. "Laramie," he whispered. "I believe it would be best to let them go. We've all been on edge having to keep an eye on them, and it's no secret they're plotting something. The big rat has said as much aloud, and I trust that stoat as much as you do. The sooner we get them out of our paws, that's another variable off the table, another thing that can no longer take us by surprise and hinder us in our goal, which is and always has been to preserve the lives of our friends and family. Do you understand?"

At least somebeast besides herself had not been taken in by Jareck's charm. She didn't like Walden's reasoning, though. The vermin were a variable, yes. But a variable they could control, a variable they at least knew something about. But the effect turning them loose might have on the behavior of the lizards was unfathomable, and while she didn't care for Jareck's antics she had decided that the reptiles were the far more life-threatening aspect of their current predicament.

But she was not one to argue with the Abbott, not now, with everybeast watching them and wondering what was to come next and the window for action dwindling deeper and deeper into the crevices of their rotten cellar. Already creatures were complaining about the lack of food.

So she relented.

"Fine. Jareck and his crew can leave. But I will commence my scouting expedition concurrently, as we may have no other chance for reconnaissance."

"You'll go alone?" asked Walden. "Well, alone besides the vermin, of course."

She waited for Jareck to comment but he said nothing. "Alone is the best way to scout. More creatures will burden me. I'll be safest alone."

"But… But what if you get hurt? What if something happens?"

Tucked between the knot of creatures gathered beneath the hole in the ceiling was Brother Roane the Bellringer, who had not spoken much since his stint as a hostage earlier in the night (or was it now day? Down here there was no time).

"Nothing will happen," said Laramie. "I'll be fine."

Roane forced his way forward. "I'm going with you. It—I know you'll say no. But it's important. I can help—I have to help. I'm fast, I'm a squirrel just like you, Laramie. If there's trouble I can climb, fast as anybeast. Please, let me come."

She didn't have time to argue.

* * *

The storeroom door creaked open. Laramie slid her head out, glanced around the kitchen. It had been ransacked, pots and pans and foodstuff everywhere, a veritable maelstrom of material on the floor. But she had a feeling much of the damage had been done by Alagadda's vermin the day prior. There were no lizards.

Tightening her grip on her sword, she motioned to the others. "Quiet as possible," she whispered.

Jareck exited behind her, followed by the rest of his crew one-by-one, and lastly Roane, almost comical clutching a flail to his chest. "Shut the door, quietly," she told him. "If we're captured or worse, they mustn't find where we came from."

Roane nodded, his head bobbing on its neck as if only barely attached. He shut the door. He didn't do it quietly. She shot him a stern glare, and he started to ooze apologies until she hissed at him to shut up.

This was not going to work.

Jareck was already at the kitchen window, peering onto the corridor that led from the cellar to the south gate—the logical route of exit. "Lookit this. Wow."

She looked. There must have been at least fifty lizards, each as large and horrific as the one she had slain, packed tight into the small passage, surrounded by a mountain of bones. She tried not to look at the bones and instead analyze the situation uncompromised by nausea. It only somewhat worked.

"Why're there so many right there, right at the exit," said Letcher, louder than Laramie liked.

"They go where the meat goes," said Laramie. "The vermin who weren't slain outright must have run for the exit, just as we planned to do. But it's a tight bottleneck, there's only that small gate. Either the lizards caught them as they scrambled over each other to escape, or perhaps more frightening, they're smart enough to wait in ambush for when they came."

Silence. A grim thought.

One of the vermin, the one nobeast could tell what he was, Switz or something—he poked his head out of a cupboard and basically shouted, "'Ey, lookit wot I found!"

Laramie shot him a glare that ricocheted off his thick skull and made not the slightest impact while Letcher stormed up and started whacking Switz with the hilt of his blade, snarling at him to shut up, don't he know they s'posed to be sneaky-like, and of course making even more noise, both by his snarling and Switz's pained squealing. A couple of other vermin joined in, telling them quite loudly to be quiet, and Laramie wondered if it wasn't too late to bolt for the storeroom door with Roane in paw and get back to safety before the lizards streamed in full force when Jareck flicked a card out of his deck and hit Letcher in the head with it. It drifted harmlessly to the floor.

"Quiet," he said. They went quiet.

"I was sayin'," said Switz, in a hoarse whisper this time, "Lookit wot I found. It's Spink."

He held open a cupboard. Curled up inside was a diminutive rat, wide eyes peering out in fear.

"Spink," said the ferret Iredell, "How're you still breathin'?"

The little rat's eyes flitted from figure to figure, before he shot out a trembling paw and slammed the cupboard shut, nearly jamming Switz's fingers.

Letcher strode forward and wrenched the cupboard back open. "Come now matey, we're high-tailin' outta 'ere an' yer comin' with us. Come on." He reached inside and struggled against the lump of matted fur that resisted. "Come on!"

"There's no time for this," said Laramie. "If he doesn't want to come, don't make him."

"Nobeast asked you, an' you ain't even with us, yer doin' yore own scoutin' thingamajib. Spink, I said come on!" Letcher started pounding his shoulder against the cupboard door as he struggled with Spink, breaking the hinges and sending it clattering to the ground.

With a sigh Laramie turned to Roane, who stared as if to ask what they should do. "Let's go back, Roane, an' wait until these fools are gone afore we head out again. I expected a little more competence, no idea why."

Roane's expression did not change. He was not staring at her. He was staring at something beyond her. Next to him, Switz held an outstretched paw in the same direction, his eyes fixed on the same something.

Slowly, she allowed her head to turn.

Staring at them through the kitchen window was a lizard, a claw pressed against the glass.

"M-maybe," said Roane in an almost inaudible whisper. "Maybe we should head back."

The lizard's tongue flicked out and slid across the window, leaving an unctuous trail of saliva in its wake. A fog manifested from its nostrils and obscured a pane.

At the cupboard, Letcher and Spink continued to struggle, oblivious. A few of the other vermin had joined in.

"Roane," said Laramie. Keeping her tone calm, moderated. As if she knew what she was doing. She did not know what she was doing. "We can't go back to the cellar. Not now. We'll lead them straight to it."

The lizard began to tap its claw against the glass.

"'Ey," said Switz. "'Ey, Letcher!"

"What," snarled Letcher. They had gotten Spink halfway out of the cupboard, even as he thrashed against them.

"It's a lizzerd, Letcher!"

As if Switz had somehow summoned it to action, the lizard loosened a feral snarl from its maw and hurtled through the window, shattering the glass into a glitter of shards and fragments. It hit the ground with a skitter of scales and legs and claws and in the distance behind it the head of every single lizard lazing in front of the south gate perked up in unison, a wave of yellow eyes piercing them with unnatural gazes.

One of the vermin, a weasel, sprinted for the storeroom door. Laramie lunged at him with the sword to cut him down before he could slay every last Redwaller in his panic, but the lizard got to him first, coiling claws into the weasel's belly and rending flesh like cream, the weasel screeching as it came colliding against the floor in a wash of blood.

Laramie seized the unresponsive Roane by the wrist and jerked him out of his stupor, pushing past Switz and Letcher for the door to the hallways of the Abbey. Her vision narrowed, black bands creeping at the edges, focused only on the door and its brass handle. The ferret Iredell got to it first, grasping and fumbling at the simple mechanism as if it were a device of endless complexity, and Laramie without thinking almost smote her with the sword just to get her useless body out of the way before the barbarity of the action struck her and she simply nudged the ferret aside. She seized the handle and pulled only for her own paw to slip and a sickening wetness spread across it. Her paw was covered in blood, the handle was covered in blood, the door was covered in blood, a streak of blood spread from the crack beneath like a dried river, and the realization of so much carnage almost stopped her cold but that Roane and Iredell and probably all the other vermin not currently being eviscerated by the cold claws of the lizards pressed against her, pressing her against the wood and the blood and the handle, which she grasped and with a determine pull got to work the way she needed it to.

The door opened onto the dining hall.

The long oaken table that spanned the hall still held remnants of the feast the vermin had prepared for themselves the night prior, platters of foods pilfered from the kitchen, vats of ale and other liquors, many things shattered and smashed beyond recognition. But most of the table was piled with carcasses, empty things with long red gashes running across throats or stomachs or limbs, a veritable mountain of carcasses, piled high enough to deny vision of the other side of the table.

She dragged Roane into the madness, not even seeing the lizards until she was well enough inside. They lounged fat and drenched in blood with raw bones and flesh curled in their claws, eyes closed, long sprawling camouflaged things, camouflaged in blood, because that was the dining hall, it was nothing but a giant red splotch, everything was red, the ground was wet, Roane was sliding and slipping behind her and she continued dragging him along even as he fell. She turned around to yank him up, afraid he would freeze on her, start to stammer and cry, anything to impede her, but the fear had not paralyzed him and he managed to rise as the first of the lizards in the dining hall lifted their listless heads and opened their eyes to see what poor prey had intruded on their den.

The vermin filed hapdash behind her, slipping on the slick floor as well, one creature tripping over a prostrate lizard and being seized immediately, as although the lizard had been asleep its reflexes had caused it to lash out at any creature living and breathing, lash out and clutch away the life, to devour that life with its own jaws and absorb it into its own pestilent being. Laramie could not look anymore. She ran.

Where—where to run. Outside, out of this nightmarish landscape, but the lizards were everywhere, the blood was everywhere, endless, infinite, no escape. She reached the dining hall door and threw it open, unsure where she was anymore even though she had lived in these halls her entire life and knew every single nook and cranny, but this was not the same place anymore, this was something transformed and macabre, something grim and deadly, a trap from which creatures did not escape. She was confronted with a staircase that only went up. Up was good, up was her element, if the lizards were behind her she could get them all to follow and then she'd jump from a window and that might confound them long enough to escape.

She ran up, Roane still jerking behind her.

The stairwell coiled tighter and tighter until she emerged on the second floor, somewhere in another long hall, and at first she thought that the walls of blood had spread even here, that even here there had been enough slaughter to paint them, but she realized the walls were red because they were made of sandstone, that the walls were red because that was the name of the place, Redwall.

The second story was almost tranquil. She kept running nonetheless, running for the nearest door, which now that she had started to orient herself to the geography of the place she could faintly remember as being the door to a closet.

She flung the door open and pushed Roane inside and only then did she check behind her to see if there were lizards ready to leap in after them where they had no room to run and no room to fight and where they would most certainly die, but the ferret Iredell crashed into her and pushed her inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

They sat in total dark, all three breathing heavily, all three trying not to breathe heavily.

Somebeast somewhere in the innards of the abbey screamed. The scream died.

Laramie's eyes adjusted to the dark and she could make out the faint outlines of Roane and Iredell contorted around her. She tapped Iredell on the shoulder. "What happened to Jareck?"

Iredell's wide eyes only stared.

"Did you see what happened to Jareck," said Laramie.

Iredell shook her head.

"Is Jareck dead," said Laramie.

"I don't remember seein' him."

"W-we're safe here, right," asked Roane.

"Just—keep quiet and let me think." Laramie wrapped her paws around her head and tried to construct ideas and thoughts to drown out the images imprinted on her mind.

The patter of paws came from outside. "Help, help me!" somebeast screamed. It was Letcher. Behind him came the clatter of claws.

Laramie tensed. He was leading the lizards straight to them. All he had to do was open the closet door and that was it, done, there was no other way out. Either Roane or Iredell wrapped their paws around her, maybe it was both of them.

"Help, h—" A thump. Something hit the ground. Something snarled. Something screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

And finally stopped screaming.

After that the only sound was of gnawing.

Eventually even the gnawing stopped and all was silent.


	14. 14

14

A long time later Laramie dared herself to start thinking about a plan. The closet had proven its safety, certainly, as no lizards had torn the door open and torn them to pieces. For a long time that was enough, twisted half on her back in the closet with her footpaws poking upward and her head against the hard stone floor, Roane and the ferret Iredell coiled around her shivering and mumbling and trying their best to keep quiet.

But closet living was unsustainable. She didn't need to feel hunger pangs to know that. So as the adrenaline subsided and her head cleared and all the aches and pains returned to the center of her being—sometime during the scuffle she had taken a cut to the side, it didn't feel deep, but who knew—she tried to think what to do.

She no longer had her sword. She must have dropped it during the sprint through the dining hall, perhaps when Roane slipped and she turned to help him. She asked Iredell if she had a weapon. Iredell said all she had was a knife. But then she lamented.

"No, no, I don't 'ave no knife, I bet it 'gainst Cap'n Jareck an' he took it from me." She began to sob.

Laramie stroked her fur to calm her down. "It's okay. Iredell, that's your name, right?"

Iredell nodded.

"It's okay, Iredell."

"I don't wanna die like this," said Iredell. "I know—I know I ain't been the best of creatures, but I don't wanna die like this."

"It's okay, Iredell. I don't intend on dying, which means you shouldn't, either." It felt odd trying to comfort vermin, but if Iredell turned hysteric things would get ugly fast. And also, she supposed she felt some sympathy for the poor beast. She had taken almost no note of the completely non-noteworthy ferret for the past day, but what she had seen was nothing more than the rankest of rank-and-file, a follower who did what she was told and had done so since birth, and knew no different. She was hardly older than either Laramie or Roane, although a brusque poverty had imbued her demeanor and aged her prematurely. She was not a pretty beast, the way creatures around the Abbey sometimes told Laramie she was. But if Laramie had been raised on the march, and taught to wield a weapon since she could walk, and knew nothing but famine and strife, and had not had a decent bath in over a season, who knew.

"L-Laramie," said Roane. "I'm sorry I messed up."

"You didn't mess up, Roane." Oh, great, now she had two of them to calm down. Who knew what imaginary slights Roane believed he had committed.

Sure enough, Roane began babbling something about making too much noise, or being a burden, or whatever.

"Roane, the fact that you're even still alive is proof enough you didn't bungle everything. And because you're still alive, that means you still have the chance to make up for whatever you think you did wrong in the first place. Okay?"

"Okay."

"So try to think of some way out of this, okay?"

"Okay."

He seemed placated and Iredell seemed placated so Laramie went back to thinking, but as soon as she drew up a mental map of the Abbey and their relative location and the possible locations of the lizards (none of which she had heard since the gnawing outside the closet door had stopped), another voice spoke. It came from outside, faint but audible.

"Come on, open this door," said what could only be Jareck. "I know it's you behind this door, who else'd have a stack of dead lizzerds piled up in front've a barricade like this? Open up."

Quiet.

"That's Jareck," said Iredell. In the dim light, her head lifted.

"Who's he talking to," said Roane.

"In cahoots with who?" said Jareck.

Quiet.

"What's Kludd got t'do with anything? Look, this is ridiculous, lemme in."

"That's Jareck," said Iredell. She started to rise.

Before Laramie could realize what was happening—she was still trying to parse the conversation between Jareck and the mysterious other creature—Iredell had pulled herself up and flung open the closet door, flooding them with light as she stumbled out. Laramie reached out to grasp her and pull her back but the damage had already been done, the door opened, the safety of the closet exploded.

"Jareck!" Iredell shouted, nearly tripping over her own paws. "Cap'n Jareck, it's me!"

Laramie seized Roane by the wrist and jerked him up. His body shook like a doll's. "Come on, Roane, we have to move quick!"

She righted herself and stumbled after Iredell, realizing as soon as she and Roane blundered out of the closet that they probably should have just closed the door as soon as Iredell left and let her get herself killed but then realizing that if any lizards saw her leave they would know where to find them and her entire decision-making process going out the window as she decided that Jareck for all his bluster probably knew a thing or two about not dying, and that sticking with him might be a good idea after all.

Iredell leapt over a lizard lying on the ground around the remains of a rat unrecognizable as Letcher. The lizard allowed Iredell to simply make the leap and keep running without any qualms, which Laramie couldn't comprehend until she realized the lizard was asleep. Or had been asleep, at least, because as soon as Iredell sprinted down the corridor flailing her arms and screaming her lungs out at Jareck, the lizard's eye cracked open and a beady yellow pupil pointed directly at Laramie and Roane.

As the lizard rose, Roane made a squeak of panic and seized Laramie's arm so tight she could not move it. Her eyes flicked for a weapon and settled immediately on the glint of a blood-soaked blade still clutched in Letcher's dead paw, which was no longer attached to its arm, and ignoring Roane she ducked down and seized it paw and all and thrust it upward into the lizard's gut as it clawed its way toward them.

The thing thrashing and hissing and snarling in a death tantrum, Laramie broke away from Roane, hoisted him under his arms, and threw him over the lizard. He somersaulted into the floor and scampered up rubbing his head and crying out in dismay. Immediately Laramie flung herself after him.

Something curled around her ankle mid-jump and she plummeted. The floor had hardly risen to meet her when the entire cold and pulsing mass of lizard dragged her back toward it, claws cutting into her skin. She screamed, or at least she opened her mouth to scream except nothing emerged save a frantic puff of air. Roane, curled on the ground, extended a worthless paw, as if his paw alone could extricate her from the gruesome mass of scale and flesh slithering atop her.

"Help!" she hissed.

Roane's eyes widened, as if before he had not realized she were truly in danger, as if this entire time he had thought they were on a pleasure picnic with not a care in the world. A change crept over him, a face of bumbling silly good-natured Roane she had never seen before, and with fangs bared he launched at the lizard, seizing the hilt of the blade still imbedded in the monstrosity's infinite torso. Screaming at the same time that she was screaming and the lizard was screaming and the whole world seemed to be screaming, Roane ripped the sword straight upward into the body, unseaming it to its very throat.

The lizard continued to thrash and scream even as all its innards oozed out, but it let go of Laramie and without bothering to watch the accursed thing die or retrieve the sword she and Roane ran full-tilt down the hallway. Jareck stood in front of the double doors to the library, Iredell on her knees beside him. He did not appear to pay attention to her. Instead, he was knocking on the doors. Surrounding him was a field of dead lizards, which for a moment Laramie wondered if he had slain on his own before the smell of several-hours's rot assaulted her nostrils.

Jareck paid them no heed as they approached. "Come on. Lemme in. I swear I ain't with these lizzerds or Kludd or whoever's runnin' the show. Have you e'er had reason t'doubt me?"

The voice behind the doors was audible now. "It don't matter if we want you in or not—we got these doors barricaded such as they ain't gonna open. So scram."

Laramie recognized the voice as belonging to Lady Alagadda.

Jareck tried the handles to the doors, sunk a fang into his coin, and scanned the hallway to either side of him. He tapped his paws against his cloak. As Laramie and Roane skidded to a halt beside him, panting and heaving and in Roane's case actually crying, he acted as though they were not even there.

He leaned back against the door. "I'm coming through the window. You promise not t'kill me?"

"What flippin' window?"

Jareck stroked his chin. "I'll figger it out." And then, as though he had been aware of them the entire time, he turned to Roane and Laramie. "How's one get into this room here?"

"Through that door," said Laramie, pointing at the obvious point of entry.

"What's another way," said Jareck. Iredell had wrapped an arm around his leg; he shook her off.

"That's the only way," said Laramie. "If we want to find someplace safe, we'll need to look somewhere else. The lizards don't seem to have moved into the second story yet, so maybe we can make it to the dorms—"

"I'm thinking we get in through the window." Jareck had moved to the window of the hallway, which looked onto a courtyard bestrewn with lizards. From the window the wall of the library was visible, perpendicular to the wall of the hallway. If one angled themselves correctly, as Jareck was now doing, one could get a glimpse into one of the round library windows, beyond which stretched a black and barren void.

Laramie had scrunched herself close to Jareck to try and see what he was seeing, try and calculate the logistics of a jump from window number one on the hallway wall to window number two on the library wall. Distance-wise, it seemed possible, as the two windows were tucked relatively close together, but the problem was the angle of exit and the angle of entry, which would require one to take a diagonal running start at the window, clear it, and then smash their way diagonally through the other window, which was quite frankly a ridiculous thing to accomplish.

"Not possible," she said.

"I can do it," said Jareck. "Mebbe."

"Don't try."

"There ain't a single exit outta this Abbey not clogged thick with those lizards, and I'd need a good rope afore I tried to climb over the wall, which I'll let you know is currently my long-term strategy for gettin' out. Until then I need someplace safe, an' that place's probably the safest here. So I think I'll try."

"But even if you make it," said Iredell, still on her knees, "How're we s'posed to make it too?"

Jareck patted her on the head. "That ain't my problem, sunshine."

In the outer edges of the hallway, where vision gave way to vanishing point, black shapes manifested.

Roane opened the hallway window and poked his head out. "We don't need to jump," he said. "We don't need to jump! Look here!"

He had forced his entire upper body out the window and was pointing at something, but in the process of doing so had obscured the vision of everybeast else. Jareck and Laramie pulled him out of the way.

"See the ledge? See it?"

Jareck didn't say whether he saw it or not, but he must have because without pause he pulled himself out the window and stepped into thin air in the direction of the library wall. For a moment it looked as if he had simply walked out of the window and started to hover in the corner intersection of the hallway and library walls, until Laramie realized one of the stones of the Abbey was jutting out a little, either a fault of design so many eons ago or else the pull of time seeking to remove the cornerstone from its place of integral architectural purpose into one of meaninglessness and entropy, the very stones of the Abbey itself coming undone. Laramie didn't have time to ponder the implications. The jutting ledge served an ample stepping-stone to the other side.

Jareck leaned over, steadying himself against the wall, and tapped the library window. He tapped it again and a face emerged in the window, which at first Laramie thought was the face of Lady Alagadda and wondered to herself what would happen if she went through that window, what Alagadda would do to Laramie or what Laramie would do to Alagadda, but it was a different weasel, one she hadn't seen before. The weasel opened the window.

"Why hello there Vellis, be a dear an' help me up will ya?"

Vellis disappeared from the window without another word.

Jareck grinned and pulled himself through the window. Soon he too had disappeared, leaving only Laramie, Roane, and Iredell watching from the other window.

The shapes at the far ends of the hallway were moving closer.

"Okay Roane," said Laramie, pushing the squirrel forward, "Your turn. Onto the ledge, through the window. You think you can do it?"

Roane peered out the window at the courtyard below. Many of the lizards had woken from their slumber and now stared with eyes unblinking. Ten, twenty of them, all staring at the exact same place, all making not the slightest movement save a quick lick of the chops and a slight twinge of the claw.

"Yeah," said Roane. "Piece a cake. But—But that's Alagadda in there. What if she—"

Laramie glanced over her shoulder at the encroaching shapes, now no longer shapes—now lizards, stalking in their direction. "No time, Roane. Alagadda's got worse to worry over than us right now. Now go!"

With a push he went, sliding out the window and hopping tip-paw to the ledge, before recalibrating his direction and pulling his way into the library window. He may have been a bit of a layabout and prone to absent-mindedness, but Roane was nonetheless a squirrel born, and Laramie took a little bit of pride that even the clumsiest of her kind were still able enough to pull such an acrobatic endeavor without pause or worry.

As soon as Roane reached the window, paws shot out from inside and pulled him in.

Laramie prepped herself to get through the window when Iredell, previously forgotten despite her constant sniveling, grabbed her by the habit. "Don't leave me—please don't leave me!"

No time to argue. "Fine! Go, hurry!"

Iredell gave a grateful nod but as soon as she pulled herself up to the window she froze, staring down at the lizards staring back at her.

"Don't think, don't look, just go! Or else they'll kill us."

But Iredell just stood in the window frame, frozen and useless, and Laramie felt her knuckles clench and her brows knit and she contemplated for a brief moment—a brief moment—just reaching out and giving the stupid ferret a great big shove out into the open air, down down down into the courtyard, where either she'd crack open her great dumb skull and spill her brains across the grass or else the lizards would rend her writhing body limb from limb, either outcome equally cathartic given the present circumstances. In fact, Laramie's arms almost started to rise in the gesture of one about to shove before she recoiled in horror at the things that had passed through her mind, a wave of absolute disgust impaling her before she realized she had fallen under the same spell as Iredell if for a different reason. She didn't even bother checking down the hallway to see how close the lizards were.

"Come on, Iredell, you can do it. Come on."

Trembling, Iredell nodded. With a tremulous footpaw she stepped to the side, touched the tip of the jutting stone, and leapt. Laramie was already on the sill ready to follow by the time Iredell had steadied herself. She stood in the crux between the hallway wall and the library wall, balanced precariously on the tiny outcropping barely wide enough to support an entire footpaw. She began the slow process of turning herself for the second jump into the library window.

"Come on. You can do it. Come on." Coaxing softly, quietly. "Don't look down. There's nothing there. Just a quick hop. You can do—"

Laramie had completely forgotten to watch her back, so when the lizard came snarling at her from the hallway she did not think. She leapt onto the ledge before Iredell had even begun to leave it, slamming against the ferret and pressing her into the wall and searching for a pawhold and not finding one. She began to fall, her arms shooting out for anything to grab.

She grabbed Iredell just as her second footpaw struck the ledge with a stiff shock and she managed to not fall and instead sandwiched Iredell to the stone.

The lizard came clawing out the wall after her.

"Help," said Iredell. "Help us!"

Laramie tried to shuffle herself deeper and deeper against the wall, but she only pressed against Iredell. The lizard reached out a claw and swiped at her. Wind rippled past her gut, where the claw came dangerously close.

"Help!"

The lizard rose its claw again to swipe when a long wooden shaft grew out of its eye and it slumped over the sill, limp.

In the library window was the weasel Vellis, with a bow. Another lizard emerged from the window to take the place of the first, and she shot it too. Still more lizards came, and the lizards below had pressed themselves against the wall with mouths upraised, as if expecting a morsel to come tumbling in.

"You need to jump, Iredell," said Laramie. "You can do it."

Iredell did not look like she could do it. "Vellis is in the way," she whispered.

Vellis fired another bolt into the hallway window, striking something Laramie could not see.

"Vellis," said Laramie. The weasel did not respond. "Vellis, we need you to move so we can jump."

Vellis fired another arrow. "Can't y'see I'm busy?"

Another lizard reared its endless head through the window, clawing and scraping for Laramie and Iredell on the ledge even as Vellis shot at it, as if it had no mind for survival or self-preservation, perhaps long having lived in a realm where such things as death were unknown to it, a world where it reigned supreme over the lesser beasts it preyed on; perhaps it did not know it could bleed. Laramie tried to press herself closer against Iredell and the other wall, and Iredell made some kind of scream and either fell or flung herself headlong at the library window, colliding with Vellis as she was in the midst of reaching for another arrow from her quiver. Both of them disappeared through the window with a crash and a lot of shouting.

Laramie braced herself to jump before Vellis could return but as her paws left the ledge the lizard from the hallway window lunged at her and sank its talons into her side and she made a staggered little oof noise as her movement went completely lateral. The sill to the library window remained perfectly even with her eye level and she flung out her paws to catch it, hooking the fingers into the solid stone with the kind of intensity only a creature in imminent danger of death can muster, the stone feeling like some kind of cold pliable custard instead of solid object, until she realized the cold wetness came from the blood oozing from her cracked nails.

The lizard seizing her whiplashed into oblivion, lost its hold, and plummeted, leaving her dangling over the abyss, clinging to the sill.

Mustering the last surge of strength in her body, she tried to pull herself up. The muscle in her arms felt as if they would rip out of her skin. She couldn't even budge. She could only hang there, the blood draining from her arms, her threadbare grip loosening, a legion of lizards growling below her.

Something wrapped around one of her wrists and she started to rise, up and over the sill. When she had made it up, Jareck swung his other arm around her and pulled her inside, depositing her on the rug of the library floor.

She fell onto her back, sucking in air, staring at a ceiling obscured in shadow, surrounded on all sides by towers of books and records, spines familiar to her. She had spent much time in this room, surrounded by the tomes, opening them, running fingers along the pages, reading their ancient font.

In one corner of the room was Vellis, counting the arrows in her quiver. Facedown the ground beside her was Iredell, who Laramie couldn't tell was alive or dead. Roane was nowhere, Jareck had vanished as soon as he dropped her inside. She could hear his voice. Talking to somebeast else. Someone on the far side of the library, beyond the field of Laramie's perception.

"Just some mates I brought along," said Jareck. "Woodlanders, no weapons 'twixt 'em."

"Toss 'em back out the window. Placate the lizzerds you riled up afore they batter their brains through this barricade."

"Harmless, really. You'll like 'em I bet."

"I said toss 'em."

"The one's a Recorder. She writes."

The other voice, which was murky and indistinct, went silent. In the corner Vellis finished counting her arrows. Iredell sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself.

A large face swelled in Laramie's line of sight, grinning, scarred, ragged, like that of a monolithic statue, something found buried in the dark parts of the woods. Even in her daze Laramie knew it to be the face of Alagadda of the Many Blades, conquerer of Redwall Abbey.

"Writes, eh?"

Laramie could only stare, transfixed in horror.


	15. 15

15

In the dark of the hull of a ship whose name Fentress could not even remember, muffled scraps of conversation seeped out.

"He's angry."

"Naw, he's same as allus."

"He said, one more delivery. Who'll it be?"

"Luce. Wonder he hasn't delivered her yet."

"He keeps Luce 'round as a warning."

"I can hear you, y'know."

"Sorry, Luce."

Fentress and Sully, side-by-side on the bench, only rowed in silence. It amazed Fentress that the others spoke, and so openly. Not long after he left, Kennebec had replaced the previous driver Trego with a pair of monstrous, silent shrews, who paced back and forth down the rows of benches holding aloft dry lanterns and needling each beast they passed with baleful expressions. But they said nothing to quell the discussions, even though they could hear them full well.

Time in the hull did not pass. It was only ever dark.

At some point Bristol Isabella Rensselaer-LaBette woke. Fentress had wondered what would happen when she did, whether they would have to suffer through the same rigamarole that she and Sully had gone through when they first discovered their new plight.

Far worse, Bristol only shuddered a little and seized Fentress by the wrist and said, "They've killed us and this is the end."

"No, Bristol," said Fentress. "We're in the hull of their ship. They're having us row. Come on, take a seat here, or the guards'll whip you."

The dazed and confused creature did as bidden. Fentress and Sully scooted over to make room for her. The sight of the hare's pitiful diminutive form in the dry lamplight wreaked Fentress with unfathomable sorrow. She had never seen a Long Patrol hare before Bristol, but she had heard stories—who hadn't? They were creatures born for stories, seemingly born from them as well. Perilous exploits, magnificent battles, romantic ideals of chivalry and class and strength that had no right to be anywhere but long since lost in their modern world of famine and disease and strife. But this tattered and empty beast was not of those stories. Perhaps she had been, once.

"How are you, Bristol," said Fentress. "You were out a long time."

It was an obvious pleasantry meant to illicit an obvious response of utter indignation—(How am I? I've been flippin' trounced left an' right, wrung through the wringer, hurled in the brig without so much as an excuse me marm, and now they're expectin' me to row their blinkin' ship! Plus other insults, exclamations, and vows of vengeance Fentress could not even begin to imagine)—but all Bristol did was slump her shoulders over the oar in front of her and say, "I want to die."

Sully had remained silent for a long time, and she did not speak now.

Fentress put both paws on Bristol's shoulders and tried to shake her back into existence, but in such a nebulous world who knew what that even meant. "Don't talk like that, Bristol. If you talk like that down here, it'll happen, anguished and slow but it'll happen. You have to find something to live for, even if that something is revenge. You have to keep your head up. What about the Long Patrol? What about your duty to the creatures of Mossflower?"

"I'm the last one," said Bristol.

"The last—the last of the Long Patrol?"

Bristol nodded.

"But—Salamandastron! How could it—"

One of the guards walked by, his bulging eye pointed at them. But he said nothing, and kept moving to needle the next bench.

"I saw it," said Bristol. "The mountain. The earth began to shake. A tear appeared in the land, and the rocks came crashing into the abyss—a cataclysmic upheaval, and the mountain was swallowed—I saw it…"

Sully's eyes narrowed. "When'd you see this."

"Not five minutes ago," said Bristol. "I fell into the chasm and then I was here."

Sully made an exasperated noise. "Madbeast," she said. "Utter nonsense."

"It was just a dream, Bristol," said Fentress. "It may have been vividly real, but you're not in any abyss or chasm or any of that rot. You're in the hull of a ship—on the river Moss."

"Rot," said Sully. "Babble."

In a instant, Bristol went from slumped over the oar in a posture of supplication to seizing Sully and drawing her close, the two of them tete a tete with Fentress mashed between.

"Would you like to hear a story," said Bristol. "Maybe when you hear it you'll have a little blinkin' sympathy for my little picadillo. How 'bout it, wanna hear?"

"Just keep rowin' while you blabber on so we don't get whipped," said Sully.

Bristol grinned, a long silly grin, and relinquished Sully to grip the oar instead. As three they pulled the massive wooden shaft forward and backward, forward and backward, forward and backward. Bristol waited until they had settled into a rhythm before continuing.

"I imagine, as a young Redwaller, hardship an' grief ain't been such a large part of yore life. Ah, livin' an' eatin', that's the life, ain't it? It's every Long Patroller's daydream on a long march, when yore paws're sorer than sore itself an' you ain't had a decent meal in what seems like a season. Redwall Abbey. The life."

"My parents died afore I knew 'em," said Sully, with almost casual diffidence. Fentress decided not to ante up in the pot of tragedies suffered lest their mutual losses turn into a cruel competition.

"Well, leastaways yer not totally insulated," said Bristol. "You may understand what's befallen me, in that case. So then, with that preface out the way, allow me to commence my story proper. Ahem. Attention, please."

Bristol held up a theatric paw to her audience, which consisted of not just Fentress and Sully but the entire host of wide-eyed creatures at the other benches, all rapt in attention of the hare since who knew how long. Probably since she awoke.

"Allow me t'set the scene. Winter. Cruel time. Snow to yore knees, can't walk a step without losin' yore boots. I'm on the march with my platoon, which contains a whole host of creatures near an' dear t'my heart, creatures I've fought alongside and scoffed tuck an' provender alongside and who all-around I've trusted with my life just as they've trusted me with theirs. There was our commander, Lieutenant Botetourt, and our chief medical officer, the pretty Miss Audrain, and who else am I forgetting—ah yes, there'd be my beloved, one Corporal Oliver Habersham, Olly for short, who I was engaged to marry."

Sully kneaded her fists into her sockets. "Okay. Okay. I get where you're goin' with this. I apologize. You've been through a lot—"

"Oh no no, you wanted a story. Funny story about Olly an' I. We'd been engaged for goin' on four seasons by this point, was kinda the joke around the mountain to say we'd be engaged 'til the day we died, not quite so funny to me now in retrospect, I must say. Truth was, Olly'd been hesitant about weddin' all official-like, wasn't his cup a tea, fellow'd charge right into a vermin horde hollerin' Eulalias like you wouldn't believe without the bat of an eye but when it came to the topic o'marriage he'd clam up and make a whole lot of awkward um and uh noises not unlike the ones you seem to be makin' a lot of right now, Miss… Sully, wasn't it?"

Fentress decided not to say something, although Sully seemed mortified in regards to the obvious course Bristol's story was taking, mortified at how she had so snidely quipped at the hare without knowing her whole story. But come on, Sully. You had to have had some inkling this had happened, the way she had clambered after Sosostris with such dogged determination. Fentress decided it would teach Sully a good lesson to have her words come back to haunt her for once.

"He was always so shy speakin' t'me, in fact I'd be the one initiatin' every conversation. It wasn't like he was that way around anybeast else, he'd spin knee-slappers with the other members of the platoon same as they all would, an' laugh great big guffaws, an' boast, an' all that good ol' Long Patrol hare activity we're so well known for. But get him near me and, well, couldn't get a word outta him."

"Get on with the story," said one of the shrew guards.

"Stow it you big lout, can't y'see I'm seasoning it with a few choice details to get the emotional investment goin'? Yer the kinda foul beast that's always skippin' to the end o'the book afore yer through just t'see what happens, aren't ya?"

The big shrew groused under his breath.

"As I was sayin', afore I was so rudely interrupted. Wintertime, on the march, a ways a bit northward from yon, assumin' yon's still about where I 'spect it is, which may or may not be the case. North's an atrocious place t'be, by the way, both in the winter and on the march. Snow's twice as cold, and blows twice as long, an' it sticks in yore fur so you've got literal icicles running down yore snout, it ain't just a metaphor up there. No sirrah. An' course there's twice the number of vermin in the north, north's a breedin' ground fer the pestilent louses, rival clans all vyin' fer territory and whatnot, each one with their own leader settin' hisself up like the next vermin chieftain warlord extraordinaire, each one with some silly moniker or name, half a which they ain't e'en got the decency to make up on their own, gotta pilfer it from some other better warlord who at least had an ounce a creativity in him. I swear, I once swapped blows with one ugly ferret callin' hisself Spoony the Scourge, actin' as if 'twere a name to instill fear in his foes. Instilled nothin' more'n hysterics in us.

"So that's the usual day in our line of work, routin' those neverending barrages of vermin, one chieftain gone an' another's replaced him the next day, harassing the pore honest folk up there who've got it hard enough on account of the abysmal weather an' now can't get a break from this infestation, this plague spreadin', an' I hear it's even worse further north you get, 'til there's no north left to go an' you can't see nothin' but an ocean of ice. But I digress."

"Yew shore do," said the same shrew guard from before.

Bristol took a moment to clear her throat again. She leaned toward the guard. "Say, ol' chap, my throat's feelin' a tad dry, have you anything to wet my whistle with?"

"Rations'll be served once at sundown and once at sunup, same as always," said the guard, as if Bristol should have known the routine already.

"Ah, 'tis a pity," said Bristol. "Can't tell a good story with a dry gullet, that's the truth. Guess you'll all have to wait."

The shrew bristled, before relenting and reaching for a flagon strapped to his belt. The other guard reached out and stopped him. "You know the rules. Kennebec's orders."

"I wanna hear the story," said the first shrew.

"It ain't even a good story," said the other shrew. "She's just babblin'. What's she even said? Some rot about the north, who even cares."

"Beats standin' hear listenin' to nuttin'," said the first shrew. "You got a problem with it?"

He apparently didn't have a problem with it. The guard unlatched the flask from his belt and passed it to Bristol. The hare unstopped the cork, sniffed the contents, recoiled a little, and took a long thick swig. She terminated with a cough.

"Well, you know what they say, beggars and choosers," she muttered, passing the flask back to the shrew. She gave a contented sigh and eased up a little on the oar, which Fentress found irksome because she had to put in additional effort. She didn't think Sully was rowing at all, just resting her paws on the wooden staff as it bobbed back and forth.

"So where was I. Oh yeah. Soon we start hearin' whispers. A name of a new warlord creatures are startin' to fear. These names pop up all the time as a matter of course but when the name's said enough times it's kinda our job to pay attention. Anyone wanna guess what this name is?"

"Log a Log Kennebec," said some pitiful creature in the dark.

Bristol scoffed. "Pshaw! Kennebec? Are you even payin' attention, he ain't anywhere near this story yet, but he'll come around in due time, don't you worry. No, the name that's got everybeast up in arms is quite the silly one, if at least a little original. The more I've turned the name over, the more it's grown on me, it has a flair to it you don't usually see with vermin warlords. An' trust me, I've turned this particular name over a lot. 'Cuz it's gonna be me puts an end to it."

"Alagadda," said Fentress.

"Not just Alagadda, oh no. You know her whole spiel? Alagadda of the Many Blades. Five whole words for one single name, six if you count the Lady gets appended to it from time t'time. We didn't know what t'make of it at first. You know why they call 'er that, yes?"

Fentress tried to remember her brief encounter with Alagadda, back at the swamp. "Because of all the knives she has, right?"

"Wrong. The knives came second. Back when we dealt with her she only had a couple, had t'keep pickin' 'em up after she threw them. They called her Many Blades 'cuz of her collection.

"The way any vermin chief gains notoriety, at least in the north, is by killin' other chieftains. From our intelligence, she'd started out small, some lesser hordebeast in some lesser horde. She assassinated her own leader, whose name escapes me. Challenged him to a duel an' killed him. Took over. That's how it usually goes with chieftains. We don't kill 'em, one of their own does. But Alagadda had something right 'cuz soon she's snowballin' into other clans, takin' 'em over, aggregatin' an army. An' every chieftain she kills, she keeps the sword. Scimitar, sabre, cutlass, what have you, pries it from the dead leader's stone cold fingers to add to her collection.

"Now you may ask, but Bristol Isabella Rensselaer-LaBette, Alagadda's but a slight beast fer warlord standards, how's she luggin' around all those blades an' same-such? Of course she ain't now, and she wasn't then, neither. She handed 'em all off to her lieutenants, gifts and symbols of status. But also making a statement. This blade some warlord held, which he used to lord over a land, to claim dominion, well that blade ain't good enough for Lady Alagadda. Maybe it'll serve a captain, a subordinate, a lackey—so it at once stratifies her army and purchases the loyalty of her closest followers, but also establishes her own dominance."

"Ain't you s'posed to be talkin' 'bout how yore mate died," said one of the shrew guards with a scowl.

Bristol waved a flippant paw at him. "So when our intelligence learned all these things about Alagadda, as well as how large her horde was, we knew we weren't dealin' with yore run-a-the-mill vermin chieftain, we had somebeast with real history-shakin' warlord potential in her nascent stages. Usually we don't see 'em this early, they come from overseas or even further north already established and at their zenith, an' so there was some clamor 'mongst the platoon that we should squash Alagadda afore war could come to Mossflower. I won't lie, Olly an' I were the chief proponents of that side o'the argument. But Lieutenant Botetourt wouldn't hear it. They had roughly twenty times our numbers, an' while the Long Patrol ain't one to back from a fight just 'cuz the odds ain't good, we'd be fightin' in the winter in land we knew half as well as they did with no reinforcements headed our way an' nobeast back at Salamandastron even knowin' we were fightin'. So his order was to return, make our report to Badger Lord Galveston, muster a more suitable force, an' return full swingin' to erase the blight from the realm.

"Well, the officer's word is the final word, wot. We broke camp and set about the long march south, back into Mossflower country.

"But wouldn't you know? Turns out, we weren't the only ones reconnoiterin' around up in the north. We watched Alagadda, an' she watched us in turn. We'd of course gained some well-earned notoriety of our own by wipin' up a few aforementioned vermin clans ev'ry so often, an' the name of the Long Patrol's one heard far beyond the reaches of our fair country, so Alagadda, ever the smart one, sniffed us out. An' when we started to move, she moved too. But not her whole army. Nah, we'd've known about such a force followin' us. She organized a group of elites, led by herself. Who knew who she left behind to watch her army in the meantime, mebbe she didn't leave anybeast and had 'em sit tight in the cold fer a week. Either way, speaks chillin' lengths about the loyalty of her horde, which I won't muse about here."

"Phew," said some creature, who wasn't one of the shrew guards. Fentress herself didn't mind the extraneous detail. In fact, she wanted more, wanted to know more about Alagadda and her horde and her tactics and her temperament, because she knew that soon she would have to wage war against her. Her dream with Martin had been what dreams with Martin must always be; a call to arms, a call to defend the Abbey. He had not spoken, but in the end he had not needed to. Fentress now knew that there would be no other recourse but for her to lead the fight. Truthfully, she no longer minded.

"But Alagadda could've beset us under any conditions an' we still would've obliterated her little so-called elite group, which aside from her an' that one bowbeast she's always got at her side wasn't too elite at all. Except there's one last angle to this story, an' this is where our good friend Log a Log Kennebec makes his grandiose entrance. You see, when we first left Mossflower country, Kennebec wasn't the Log a Log at all. He was a trusted second to the Log a Log, an' a prominent member of the guerrilla union, an' so when he met us at the northern end of the River Moss tellin' us how the previous Log a Log died an' how by Guosim law he was now in command, we didn't question it none."

For the first time in her rapid-fire delivery of the story, she paused. She didn't give a dramatic gesture or respond to one of the handful of snide remarks cropping up in the darkness, including what seemed to be an attempt by Luce to hijack the story and give her own explanation of the events, which for the most part was quieted by one of the shrew guards. (Which made Fentress wonder how Luce was connected to all of this; she had seemed defiant before on the subject of Kennebec, and the other rowers looked to her as some sort of leader. Perhaps she had some sort of connection to the previous Log a Log, which might explain her presence here now.)

Bristol finally spoke. "I dunno if I wanna tell this part, as it's the part where all the thoughts about what could've been if only we knew, if only we realized, if only we suspected some ounce of the suspicion pervading Log a Log Kennebec an' his self-assured demeanor an' how his crew didn't seem to sing anymore the Guosim songs we'd heard 'em all sing the last time we met, or how he told us the prior Log a Log died a' natural causes even though the ol' feller'd seemed pretty spry an' it'd only been a half-season—or well, some amount o'time, I don't quite recall—since he'd danced a jig fer us as hospitable entertainment. But we were cold an' we'd marched the last few days without rest an' we weren't 'spectin' treachery from the Guosim of all creatures. So we stayed at their camp an' supped their supper an' had ourselves a jolly time.

"At some point durin' the feast, a cloaked figure slipped into camp an' met discreetly with Log a Log Kennebec. I didn't know it at the time, but this figure was that same wretched vixen you so adamantly attempted to shield from me." Bristol gave Fentress a friendly nudge in the ribs that Fentress wasn't sure how friendly it was. "I was sittin' with Olly and Lieutenant Botetourt at the time, spinnin' some yarn for a few of the shrews, mebbe these guards here were among them. But I noticed this odd figure and kept an eye on her and at some point managed to get it into my head that she was a vixen, which led to the question of why she was there in camp talkin' to Kennebec like she was s'posed to be there. By then, it was too late. I'd just broken my story off long enough to ask the lieutenant what to make of this vixen when Kennebec signals his cronies and bam, blades're bein' drawn left an' right an' beasts's shoutin', hollerin', stabbin' at each other. Course we hares weren't keen to bringin' weapons to a meetin' 'mongst friends but at the same time we're soldiers and not havin' yore blade with you's tantamount to suicide, so soon we're up an' the frenzy's on us and Eulalia's singin' on the wind an' guts are spillin'.

"Then Alagadda shows up.

"In the heat a battle, disorganized and rank broken, we didn't realize 'twas her at first. But shore enough I garter some beast through the gullet with my sword an' look up and tain't no shrew starin' back at me wide-eyed and babblin' blood, 'tis some nasty rat, an' a pair a his mates is comin' for vengeance. I lash out with a right hook—" (she demonstrated) "—knock the block offa one a'them, parry back an' slice open the stummick of the other, when there's a fourth one, wily lanky fox character, lookin' not unlike the hooded vixen who'd tipped the whole thing off, comes at my back. But Olly's there an' he blocks the blow an' swipes at this fox, while I take on a pair a weasels chargin' my front, so we're fightin' back-to-back vermin after filthy vermin. Lieutenant Botetourt's off to the side, holdin' a line with the rest of the survivors, crossin' blades with the Many-Bladed One herself. That only registers a tangential on my frame a reference, I've taken down one weasel and set to clobberin' the second, whalin' on his weaselly head a few extra times for good measure.

"That's about when I turn an' see Olly take a blow to the side from that fox." Bristol's voice starting to lose itself. "Who knows what kinda dirty scoundrel tricks such a louse-ridden cross-bit mange-furred infidel'd have t'pull to do one on Olly, but that's about when I start gettin' real mad, an' by mad I mean in the hare sense as much as the fury sense, an' all I'm seein' is red, an' that's about when I get this—" (pointing to the long scar down the side of her face and neck) "—an' this—" (pointing to the scar running the length of her arm and terminating in a mangled finger) "—an' this—" (pointing to a ragged gash in her coat through which another scar could be seen) "—An' I'm startin' to lose track a who I am, see, so I swing out like this—"

She leapt out of her bench and seized the whip from the nearest shrew guard and had a full second to batter the guard senseless with it before the second guard registered what had happened. By then she had the whip around the first guard's throat and set to throttling his head off with it and when the second guard hesitated for a moment unsure whether to run for help or do something to stop her she lashed out with one of her footpaws and struck him directly in the neck with a well-aimed high kick, dropping him to the ground making no noise at all.

Bristol wound the whip around the first guard's throat until he stopped moving too, and let him drop.

She pulled the whip off and lashed it into empty air. "I'm leaving. If you're with me, okay. If not, I don't care. An' don't expect me to ever finish that story."

As soon as she realized what was happening, Fentress dove to the corpses of the guards and searched them for weapons. Whisking her paws over their cold still bodies she managed to find one small dirk hidden on an ankle and drew it. "I'm in," she said.

Sully rose. "Guess I'm comin' too."

"And the rest of you," said Fentress to the other shriveled creatures in the hull of the ship, keeping an eye on Bristol who was already limping toward the hatch. "This is your best chance at escape. I implore you come too."

Nobeast stirred.

With a wince, Sully put an arm around Fentress to steady herself. "I think my ankle got worse in all the kerfuffle back on the riverbank. Mebbe I should—"

"Don't even say that you'll stay, Sully," said Fentress. "It's not happening." She helped Sully through the darkness of the hull, swiping one of the fallen guards's lanterns to light the way. Nobeast else made a noise or moved; as Fentress swept the light of the lantern over their emaciated faces, an array of inset eyeballs glimmered back at her.

Bristol tripped over something and cursed.

When they had almost reached the ladder leading up to the hatch, somebeast finally spoke. It was Luce, the ringleader, the one the others always referred to in hushed tones no matter their subject of discussion.

"Don't you try it. You won't get two paces out that hatch."

Fentress held aloft the lantern and tried to put a face to the voice. "I'm willing to wager we can. If enough of us rise up at once, we'll overwhelm them. There's not so many and not so ready as can stop us all."

The voice that returned was harsh, mocking. "As if we 'aven't tried it afore. Whaddya think we are, idjits? We ain't even chained down here, first thought popped into each an' ev'ry one of our pore heads was breakin' out. An' we did it too, overpowered the guards—Kennebec never leaves many of 'em—made a rush through the hatch. But he's there, he's allus waitin'. It's his sick pleasure. By makin' escape look so easy, he can batter us down all the harder. Look into my eyes, an' tell me what you see."

But Fentress couldn't find Luce's voice in all the turmoil; she could only see a hundred incandescent eyes in the lamplight. Finally, a small, tremulous paw reached out and gripped her wrist, pulling the lantern toward it, and the thing staring back at Fentress wasn't staring at her at all, because it had no eyes—it had only two sockets welded shut and scarred.

"You—you're blind?"

"Aye, the last time Kennebec caught me he did it himself. Said rowbeasts didn't need to see anyway. Not like I'd ever be out in the light fer the rest of m'life… Eventually he'll decide to deliver me, an' that'll be the end of it."

"Deliver?" said Fentress, mouthing the word, still in awe at Luce.

"Don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough—it's where we're headin' now."

Sully shook Fentress. "Come on, Fen, we ain't got time for this—Bristol ain't waitin' up. Just 'cuz she didn't make it don't mean we won't!"

Fentress nodded. Taking one last glance at Luce, she broke away and reached the ladder to the hatch, which Bristol had already begun to ascend. Helping Sully onto the first rung, she placed down the lantern and followed her up.

Bristol reached the hatch, flung it open, and spilled out, snarling and shouting and cracking the whip. Sully and Fentress tumbled after her, into the dusky air of an orange sky. They landed on the deck of the ship.

The first thing Fentress saw when she looked up was Log a Log Kennebec staring down at her from beneath his obnoxious hat, an insufferable grin etched on his face. At his back, it seemed, stood his entire crew, each brandishing a weapon. Fentress glanced to the right, and then to the left—they were surrounded. Even Bristol, who had seemed so eager to gamble her life on this last chance at freedom, stopped short of the innumerable tide of Guosim shrews stretched before them, clotting the deck of the ship, impassable for their sheer numbers before even considering their armaments.

Kennebec gave a foppish tip of his cap. "Good evening, dears. You're just in time for the ceremony."

He extended a paw to help Fentress up.


End file.
